Alive: Fallen Saint
by Logical Nonsense
Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered at the beginning of their fifth year. Somehow... Voldemort has brought her back with dark, ancient magic. She doesn't remember her previous life (yet). Some R/Hr *Complete*
1. Coming Home

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: One - "Coming Home"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Authors Note: 29 May 2002 If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by 14 June 2002 --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.

*

"I see it from another place right now  
I'm coming home before I hit the ground  
Run fast there I wanna be gone now"

Title: Smash 

Album: Gutterflower (Goo Goo Dolls)  
  
*

"I don't remember much of the last few hours. I remember all the events, but the details are fuzzy. I remember suddenly awakening, my vision blurry and my lungs burning for oxygen. I remember the feeling of being trapped. I remember having to dig out of the ground, out of my coffin. I remember crawling out of the grave, dirty but alive. I remember wandering around for awhile, through a graveyard then into a forest. I remember being afraid, being alone. I remember being so tired I just wanted to collapse, but so afraid that I'd fall asleep and never wake up. I remember somehow finding my way into a forest. It seemed to be calling me. Then I found and followed you.

"I don't remember anything before waking up. It's just a black fuzziness," I spoke quietly, stroking the soft, golden hair of the unicorn's neck. "I thought I was in some hellish world when I first woke up. Everything was so dark, so cold, but then I saw you," I sighed. "You're too beautiful to be… wrong, bad." 

The unicorn whined softly and shook its graceful neck. A sharp wind rustled the leaves, whistling as it wove through the trees. _I have you _it whined, a quiet hiss as leaves rolled across the ground. I glanced around quickly, looking for danger. I saw none, but the hairs on the back of my neck tickled, as if I was being watched. The unicorn snorted, pounding the ground with its foot, it seemed to be laughing. 

I took a step away from the animal, but tripped on a raised root. I sprawled backwards and landed on my backside. My foot twisted in a way it wasn't supposed to, and a crack echoed across the barren forest. I bit back a scream, digging my fingernails into the padded flesh of my palm. The unicorn laughed again, before it's hair began to darken – it didn't stop until its entire coat was raven. It reflected the moonlight for a moment, before the hairs began to smolder, and the unicorn dove into a shadowed area. 

It's once warm chocolate eyes flashed dangerously, and I began to crawl backwards. It snorted again, and smoke emitted from its nostrils. It's horn, once a thing of beauty, looked lethal and frightening. Gathering my courage, I sprang up, ignoring the searing pain in my ankle, and ran. Moonbeams filtered in through the treetops and I heard the _thing _galloping behind me, effectively avoiding the patches of light. 

_Get in the open. Get in the open. _The words echoed over and over in my mind, and I continued running until I was about to collapse. After a dozen forevers, I found my way out of the forest. I fell to my knees on the hard ground, letting the moon bathe me in light. The _thing _snorted once more before snarling and galloping away, back into the forest.

I continued crawling across the wide, barren field toward a huge cottage less than a mile from the edge of the forest. Smoke spiraled out of its chimney, and a jack-o-lantern sat on the steps in front of the cottage. A small garden enclosed with a shoddy picket fence was placed sloppily in the back, and for giant pumpkins grew on a monstrous vine. I inched forward, wincing each time my ankle bumped the ground. 

The door of the cottage swung open, and light poured out. A moment later, a gigantic figure appeared silhouetted against the light, nearly blocking all of it.

"Who's there?" a gruff voice called out through the darkness. I looked up to see the enormous shadow moving towards me. The ground vibrated with it's every step, and I crouched low, my efforts to blend with the ground futile. The shadow reached down and grabbed my arm, yanking me up to my feet. I shrieked as my weight landed on my injured ankle, and white dots floated in the vision before everything went black.

*

My eyes fluttered open, my head felt groggy and my limbs heavy. I struggled to sit up and blinked my eyes rapidly to clear my vision. It was still late, that much was obvious, but the sun was just beginning to peak out over the forest. I knew all this because there was a window opposite my bed. 

I looked around. The entire room seemed very white and sterile. _Hospital, _I realized. I heard voices arguing just outside the gray curtain that blocked my bed from view. I strained to hear them.

"…they deserve to know…" 

"…how would you feel? … won't understand… too hard…"

"if we don't… never forgive… grieving…"

"…shh… awake…"

Suddenly, the curtain was ripped back and an old man held it. He had soft, twinkling blue eyes and a reassuring smile. Another man stood behind the elder; his eyes were a warm brown, and though his features were young, his toffee colored hair was speckled with gray. He looked frustrated, possibly angry, but when his gaze landed on me his eyes softened. 

"Are you feeling better?" the queer old man wearing a large, drab dress asked softly. His eyes danced amusedly, and his lips were curled ever so slightly – as if he knew something I didn't.

I nodded, not quite afraid of these two men, but just wary. I noticed my ankle didn't hurt, and I wiggled my toes slightly to find it was completely healed. I rotated it in a small circle, amazed at the speedy recovery.

"Can you please tell us what happened? All you can remember," Mr. Twinkle Eyes questioned, and I nodded, trying to figure out where to start.

"Well, I woke up underground – in a coffin, I think. I couldn't see much, everything was so blurry, and it burned my lungs to breathe. I dug my way out, I think," I paused, remembering the cuts and bruises that covered my hands. Now, my hands were completely healed – there was no way to know I'd just crawled out of my grave. 

"You dug your way out…" Mr. Twinkle Eyes prodded, and I returned to my monologue.

"I dug my way out, and I was in a big graveyard. It was really spooky, so I squeezed through the fence. I was just outside a big forest and I saw a –" I stopped, knowing they'd find me silly. 

"What did you find?" the young man, who hadn't spoke before, asked curiously. I turned sharply to him and studied his form. He was quite handsome for a – oh, thirty five year old or so – He must have noticed me staring, for he smiled timidly. His teeth were sharp and canine-like. I decided to call him Sharp Tooth, for lack of any other name.

"You'll find it strange," I mumbled, blushing crimson. 

"Try us," Sharp Tooth said softly, and I found myself wanting to believe him. Surely, I hadn't imagined the unicorn.

"Well," I began uncertainly, "it was a unicorn. It was so pretty," I paused, letting the image resurface in my mind, "all gold and silver. I followed it through the woods on a small path, not even big enough for two people. After awhile, it stopped, as if sensing I needed to rest. I was so tired. I told it all about how I found it, and then the wind started blowing really hard. The unicorn snorted and stamped its foot. It seemed like it was laughing. Then it turned all black and started breathing fire. I ran, but tripped and hurt my ankle. I managed to crawl out into the field, and the unicorn (it had been chasing me) stopped where the shadows ended. Every time the moon hit it, it would start to burn. Then this big shadow monster grabbed me, and then I fainted," I finished in one breath, trying to keep all the other visions at bay. Especially those of waking up in a coffin – being buried alive. 

It was really silent for a moment, and Sharp Tooth kept opening his mouth, as if to say something, but then would decide against it and snap his mouth shut. Mr. Twinkle Eyes just stared at me, lost in thought. My stomach grumbled loudly, and Mr. Twinkle Eyes grinned.

"I'll send some food in for you. After you eat, we can talk again," he said and stood up. Sharp Tooth followed suite. They were halfway out the door before he paused, "Do you remember your name?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but found myself at a loss of who I was. I felt tears sting my eyes, and cursed myself for getting emotional. I shook my head indicating I didn't, and he nodded slightly before leaving. 

I laid back on my pillow; my eyes were heavy, begging for sleep. But I wouldn't give in – the constant fear of never awakening plagued my entire being _- waking up in a coffin does that to a person,_ I thought wryly. _Was I always this sarcastic? Maybe --- I was dead._

The thought struck me hard, like a punch to the stomach. Until then, I hadn't realized what waking up in a coffin meant – it meant I had died, and then someone brought me back. I had died. _How? _I wondered morbidly. It was strange, thinking of your own death so objectively. 

A woman burst in, bustling around crazily before setting a tray with an assortment of breakfast foods on the bedside table beside me. She spoke to me, but I didn't hear her. I couldn't shake the thought – _I had died. Died. As in, DEAD. As in, never coming back. But then, where was I? I can't be home… in my world. It couldn't be possible… or could it? Did I actually come back? Did someone bring me back? That's just not possible. You live once – you die once. No second chances._

"Excuse me." 

The words jarred me from my depressing spiral of thoughts. I looked at the speaker, somewhat surprised to see Mr. Twinkle Eyes back so soon. I looked out the window, shocked to find the sun high in the sky. I must have fallen asleep – I hadn't been thinking for that long.

"What time is it?" I gushed, my eyes wide and frightened. Maybe time worked differently wherever I was.

"Nearly noon. You were asleep," Mr. Twinkle Eyes explained. I noticed Sharp Tooth hadn't accompanied Mr. Twinkle Eyes. "Now, you've told us your story. Now, you're probably wondering who I am," he waited until I nodded, which I did. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I nearly laughed out loud. Witchcraft and Wizardry? Rubbish for sure! He didn't laugh, although he wasn't angry either. 

"Where am I?" I asked cautiously, not trying to offend Mr. Twinkle Eyes, but magic doesn't exist at home – on Earth.

"You are at Hogwarts – it's in Scotland," he explained. "Now, I'm quite serious about the magic. How do you think you got here?" he questioned, although it was obvious he knew the answer.

"I crawled," I answered, thinking of my adventure through the forest. He grinned and shook his head. His gray hair waved when his head moved.

"No, I mean, how do you think you got back – alive," he clarified and I shrugged. I had no idea where I was or how I got here. "Magic, of course!"

I didn't want to argue with the only person to show me a bit of kindness, so I just shrugged. He seemed to accept that and continued his explanation.

"So, you have no idea who you are," he stated. "You are Hermione Granger – sixth year student at Hogwarts. You died last year – you were in your fifth year and were a prefect."

I interrupted, "How did I die?" 

He looked somewhat taken aback. "You really want to know? I suppose I ought to tell you – it's just… No, you're quite right. You deserve to know," he seemed to be talking to himself, so I remained quiet. "You were killed by a very bad dark wizard called Voldemort. He left you as a – twisted – present for one of your best friends. He also gave you this scar," he pointed to my forehead, "and this one," he pointed to my left arm. I didn't see anything through the fabric, but I hurriedly pulled back the sleeve. On the inside of my left forearm a hideous skull was cut into my skin – the scar was light pink and raised. I ran my fingers along the lines, before remembering the one on my head. I brought my fingers hesitantly to it, brushing them across the raised skin. I traced the lines – it was a _V _– no doubt it represented Voldemort. 

"Why did he kill me?" I asked curiously. It was unbelievably weird talking about my death.

"He has an unfounded grudge with one of your best friends, and thought it'd be, er, amusing to leave your body as a Christmas gift," he said solemnly, the twinkle leaving his eyes.

"Is the friend okay? The person who received the, uh, well, me?" I asked feebly – mostly because I felt I had to say something. I was completely freaked out. I still couldn't comprehend I had died. It was just too unbelievable.

Mr. Twi – Dumbledore – nodded, grinning slightly. A commotion outside interrupted our conversation, and I heard angry, desperate shouting.

"…let me see her… she'll remember me… I know it… she'll remember me!" a young man's voice sounded from just beyond the curtain. Sharp Tooth answered.

"Ron! She doesn't remember anything! Please –" he stopped as the curtain was torn open. A tall, lanky red head with a good dousing of freckles bound across the room to the side of my bed. He paused for one brief second before wrapping his arms tightly around me, nearly suffocating me. He was stroking my head and whispering gentle somethings in my ear. 

He finally let go, stepping back and blushing like mad, "Sorry," he mumbled, but couldn't keep the handsome grin from his rugged face. His hair was tousled and he was in strange garb – he wore elbow, knee, and shin pads and was carrying a broomstick. _Odd, _I thought, thinking it some sport or something. Surely, if all this magic stuff is real, they would have their own sports.

"Ron, nice to see you," Dumbledore said, still smiling and Ron grinned back at the old man. 

"G'day, Professor," he muttered, still grinning crazily. He definitely was _not _hard on the eyes – the red hair and freckles giving him a boyish face, but his stature proclaiming his age (probably 17, I suppose). I wondered briefly if we had been involved before I had died, because he obviously knew me well.

"Er, hello," I mumbled, not sure what to say. "How are you?" I opted for polite conversation.

"You don't remember me, then?" he asked, his grin slipping for the first time. I shrugged and mumbled an apology. 

"Ron, come on. Let's leave her –" Sharp Tooth placed a hand on the red head's shoulder, moving him to the door.

"No," Ron said stubbornly, "I'm not leaving her again."

"Ron, she isn't going anywhere. I just need to speak to her a bit more, explain a few things," Dumbledore paused. "If that's alright with you, of course?" he added mischievously, and Ron blushed again. 

"Sorry, Professor," he mumbled and let Sharp Tooth lead him out the door. He cast a final look at me at the door; he seemed to be memorizing my features or something. Sharp Tooth nudged him through the doorway, and closed the door securely behind them. 

"Who was that?" I asked Dumbledore, completely baffled. 

"Ron Weasley – sixth year Gryffindor and one of your best friends. Harry Potter is your other best friend," he explained.

"Was he the one that –"

"No," Dumbledore interrupted, "Harry was the one that found you."

"Oh," I replied, not quite sure what to say. I fiddled with my fingers, picking the dirt from underneath their nails. My hands, although uninjured, were filthy. I brought a hand to my hair, but recoiled as it made contact. My hair was dry and wavy, but caked with mud. 

"If you don't have any other questions, you may get cleaned up. I'll have Madame Pompfrey get you some clothes," Dumbledore said kindly. I nodded, and he stood up, "It's nice to see you again, Hermione. We've all missed you."

It was weird. He talked like I had just been on a holiday, but I flashed him a timid smile. He slipped through the curtain, and a moment later the lady from earlier scrambled in. She had a pile of clothes clutched in her hands, and a basket of tubes and bottles – shampoo and such. 

"Dear, you just go get cleaned up, alright? The bathroom is right there," she led me to a door and handed me the clothes and basket. "There's clothes, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. Take as long a shower as you'd like," she practically shoved me in the bathroom and closed the door. Slowly, I removed the weathered clothing and stepped into the hot shower. The scalding water on my body was a nice reminder that I was alive.

*

"Harry, please sit down," Dumbledore said and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Harry nodded, looking around the room. Sirius and Remus sat huddled in a corner, discussing something fervently. Harry waited patiently for Dumbledore to say something, exploring the room with his eyes. A bookshelf in the corner held all sorts of muggle contraptions, and a different set of pictures waved at him from every shelf. Harry spotted a picture of his mom and dad that he had missed before during all those times he had found himself in this very seat. Dumbledore still hadn't said anything, so Harry decided to break the silence.

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, wondering what he could have done to get both his professor and godfather involved. "Is it Voldemort?" was his second question.

"No and no. Everything is alright on that front," Dumbledore paused. "Sirius, you should tell him."

Sirius literally jumped out of his seat and threw a curious look at Dumbledore, but nodded. He began to pace up and down the small area between the desk, the chair, and the wall. 

"Sirius?" Harry interrupted, "Just spit it out already."

"Harry," Sirius began. "Hermione –"

"No," Harry interrupted coldly, his green eyes changing from jade to a new color – paler, colder – an envy green – a death green, "I don't want to talk about her."

"But –" Sirius tried, but was once again interrupted by Harry. 

"I will NOT talk about her!" Harry repeated, his voice a low hiss. 

"Harry! Listen to me," Sirius hand gripped at the corner of the table. "She's alive, Harry. She's back."

"Stop it. Just stop it. I don't want to hear these lies! Stop it!" Harry began repeating quietly over and over, and nothing Remus, Sirius, or even Dumbledore said would shut him up.

Dumbledore mumbled something, and a moment later Harry was slumped in his chair, quiet and unconscious.

"What did you do?!" Sirius shouted, his overprotective nature coming forth as he rushed to Harry's side.

"Sirius, calm down. I put him to sleep –" Sirius gasped at this. "He will wake up," Dumbledore chuckled, then stopped, his expression turning serious. "It's too soon. I should have known he wouldn't handle this well. I just thought –" 

"No one could have known," Remus spoke for the first time. "We'll just have to figure out this mess."

"Yes, and a mess it is," Dumbledore agreed. "I just don't understand _how _they brought her back. Those magics are long gone – dead."

"Shouldn't we be focusing on _why _she's here?" Sirius questioned, moving to sit in the chair beside Harry. 

"No," Dumbledore shook his head, "If we can figure out the how, it'll probably lead us right to the why."

"It's a good thing she found us," Remus commented, brushing a hand through his graying hair.

"I think she was meant to," Dumbledore mumbled quietly. "I think they wanted her to find us."

"Why, though? If they brought her back, wouldn't they want to keep her?" Sirius countered.

"Only time will tell…" Dumbledore trailed off.


	2. Wanna Be Somebody Else

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: Two - "Wanna Be Somebody Else"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Authors Note: ______ If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by ______ --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.

*

"Doctor, doctor won't you please prescribe  
somethin'  
A day in the life of someone else?"

"Its bad when you annoy yourself  
So irritating  
Don't wanna be my friend no more  
I wanna be somebody else"

Title: Don't Let Me Get Me

Album: Misundaztood (Pink)

*

"Hermione."

I was painting my nails a dark purple with silver lightning bolts that actually flashed gold, when someone waved their hand in front of my face. My vision was blocked by the hand, so I slipped and got purple all over the tip of my finger. I grumbled about it and looked up.

"Hello? I've been saying your name for about forever!" Ron exaggerated. He was sitting at the opposite end of the bed in the Hospital Wing of Warthogs or whatever the school's name was. I have no idea why he would want to watch me paint my nails, but whatever tickles his fancy.

"Sorry," I mumbled, wiping the excess nail polish away with a cotton ball. I hadn't gotten used to my new name, although it's not entirely new – because I don't remember my old one, which is exactly the same as my new one. Oh jeez, now I've confused myself. "Are you sure you're not bored?"

"Nope," He grinned cheekily, and I found myself cracking a small smile. "Watching you paint your nails is entirely fascinating!" he laughed. It was quite contagious and I let a small giggle slip. 

"But," I composed myself, "don't you have homework or, you know, other friends?" 

"Nope and nope." 

"You have no other friends?" I translated his 'nope' skeptically. 

"Well, Harry – but he's still catatonic," his smile had completely disappeared, but only for a second, "Dean is teaching Seamus how to play some muggle game – something where you kick a ball. Great fun," he rolled his eyes, "so you're stuck with me." 

"Lucky me," I replied dryly, but I was actually glad he was here to keep me company. I could somewhat forget everything and just act like the sixteen year old girl I'm supposed to be. I glanced out the window, watching a large bird circle above the forest – or Forbidden Forest, as I've been told it's called. It still gives me the heebie-jeebies just to look at it; to know that thing is still probably out there. The evil unicorn – does that sound pathetic or what?

"You know," he began, "you never were very sarcastic before –" he stopped. In all the time I'd spent with him since my arrival last week, he hadn't once mentioned my death or reappearance.

"I died?" I ventured. He, as well as I, would have to accept that fact. He shrugged and swung his foot across the blue Berber carpet of the Hospital Wing floor.

"You never cared much about your appearance then, either. I don't think I've ever seen you paint your nails – except for the Yule Ball in fourth year," he declared, and I tried to remember something about a Yule Ball. Unfortunately, my mind remained blank.

"Hmm, I guess death changes people," I shrugged. Ron didn't reply so I looked up; he looked so sad, like he lost a friend. Was I the lost friend? Was I really that different back then? I changed the subject, "I'm getting my own room sometime this week."

"Really? Cool," he seemed distracted, but I paid it no mind. The lightning bolts I had painted on my nails were dry and now needed a clear topcoat. I dug through the basket at my side – a gift from Madame Pompfrey – that contained nailpolish, nailpolish remover, make-up, and some cheap jewelry. It was a nice thought. I pulled out the clear polish and tried to open it. Unfortunately, the cap was stuck. 

"Here, I got it," Ron took it out of my hand and wrenched it open. He handed it back to me, smiling shyly. He opened his mouth about to say something, but abruptly closed it.

"What?" I asked. He'd been doing it all morning, and it was beginning to get on my nerves. Plus, I was simply curious. He shook his head, running a hand through his dark reddish-orange hair. It was such an innocent, distracted expression but it made my stomach do a funny whirly thing. I blushed, rolling my eyes at myself. I mean, here was Ron – someone who I've apparently known since I was eleven (not that I remember any of this) and I'm beginning to fancy him!

"Do you remem –" Ron began, but was interrupted when Madame Pompfrey rushed in.

"Oh dear! Hermione, darling, could you please give me a hand? Oh wait! Let me just adjust –" she paused, whipped out her wand, mumbled something, then replaced it in her pocket, grinning. "You don't mind being a blonde, do you?" 

I pulled a strand of hair in front of my face. It was bleach blonde and silky smooth. 

"Hermione, take this will you?" she passed me a handful of bottles and bustled over in the other direction. I wobbled around the curtain and out into the main area of the Hospital Wing. Three students sat, fidgeting, on the edge of a bed. Two young girls, one with enormously large ears and the other with a purpling hand, were glaring daggers at each other. An older boy, probably third year, was biting his lips and holding his wrist tightly. He looked to be in a decent amount of pain. 

I deposited the bottles on the table and went over to the boy. He didn't notice my arrival, for his eyes were shut tightly. 

"Excuse me?" I asked softly, not wanting to frighten him. He jumped slightly and looked up at me with wide, tearful blue eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"I-I h-hurt my-my hand," he held his right hand against his chest, cradling it with his other hand. 

"How did you do that?" I asked him kindly, pulling his hand away from his chest slowly, gently. 

"I f-fell of my broom during q-quidditch p-practice," he let me examine his wrist without complaint. 

I let go, held up one finger to indicate for him to hold on, and walked over to a cupboard on the opposite side of the room. Scanning the tubes, bottles, and jars I chose a bottle filled with green powder labeled _angrolyrica._ I brought it to his side, scooped a bit on my finger, and rubbed it on the big bruise appearing near the base of his hand.

"Does it still hurt?" I asked, when the bruise refused to go away. His eyes were wider than when he had first come in, and he shook his head.

"It feels fine," he tentatively tapped his wrist, but didn't flinch or wince at all, "It's just fine!"

I smiled, "Just wait for Madame Pompfrey to get done with those girls and she'll come make sure it's okay." 

He nodded, still looking with amazement at his wrist. 

"Her- Herley! Harley!" Madame Pompfrey called, changing my name. She sounded somewhat upset, "What did you do? You could have poisoned him!"

"I just –" I blanched, "I thought it would help," I shrugged, feeling incredibly guilty. What if I had poisoned him?

"Why would you ever think that?" She snapped, attending to his wrist. I was about to answer when she spoke again, "Merlin's beard, what did you give him? It's completely healed."

"I just rubbed a bit of this stuff," I picked up the bottle and handed it to her, "on his wrist." 

"Hmm," she paused thoughtfully. "Eric, you can return to practice," she shooed him out, "Herm – Harley, Professor Dumbledore wanted to see you. Ask Mr. Weasley to take you there, alright?" she said absently, rolling the bottle around in her hand. The green powder slipped down the sides, leaving a fine coat of green dust. I nodded, biting my lip. What if they kicked me out? 

"Ron, will you take me to Dumbledore's office?" I asked, and he glanced up sharply. He had been examining my make-up. I raised an eyebrow, and his face turned faintly pink. 

"I was – I was just –" 

I laughed, "Come on."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a horrible hick accent and bowed gallantly. I wrapped my arm around his, and he escorted me down the hall. 

*

"Ms. Granger, please, sit down," Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I sat down obediently and let my eyes wander around the room. Dumbledore cleared his throat, politely demanding my attention. I turned and flashed him a small smile.

"How are you doing, sir?" I asked. I had not forgotten my manners at least. 

"Quite well, and you?" 

"I'm alright," I smiled again. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. 

"I see you've gone blonde," Dumbledore chuckled, and I blushed. I began to explain, but he held up a hand to stop me, "Madame Pompfrey and I have decided to allow you contact with the other students. We cannot allow you back as Hermione, but as … what was it Madame Pompfrey called you?"

"Harley, sir. But – how did you know…" I trailed off. He wasn't in the Hospital Wing when she slipped up and nearly called me Hermione, changing it to Harley at the last moment.

"I have my ways," his blue eyes danced mischievously, "Now, on to more serious matters. We've begun research on, put simply, raising the dead. The Order –"

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but what's the Order?"

"Oh dear! Of course, you wouldn't know about that! The Order of the Phoenix is a, uh, military type of establishment. They are working against Voldemort and his supporters," he explained, stroking his beard as he spoke, "Well, I have directed the Order to look into the ancient magics it would take to resurrect someone. They're also attempting to figure out _why _you were raised.

"We haven't had any breakthroughs thus far, but it's only so long before someone slips. Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this," he finished and leaned back in his chair. 

I contemplated all he had said, "Sir, if I am going to be Harley – and not Hermione, maybe everyone who knows I'm Hermione should also call me Harley, you know? So they won't slip up in public, they can practice when we're alone," I nibbled on my lip. For some reason, I didn't want to be Hermione. I didn't want her shadow hanging over me – I didn't want to have that pressure to be as accomplished as she apparently was. 

Dumbledore seemed to read my thoughts because he didn't answer right away, and when he did it was oddly cryptic, "You may be anyone you want to be, but don't forget who you are."

Okay, there's a riddle for you. I didn't bother trying to figure it out; I probably wouldn't have been able to even if I tried. 

__

Hermione would have been able to. An annoying voice in my head hissed. I pushed it away, trying to forget Hermione. I wasn't Hermione. I was Harley. What the fuck kind of name is Harley?

"Should I –" I gestured to the door and stood up half-way. He nodded, so I quietly excused myself, scurrying out of the room. His all knowing nature was seriously freaking me out.

"Hermione," Ron hurried over as I stepped out of the hidden passage to Dumbledore's office. 

"Ron," I took a deep breath, "I'm not Hermione anymore. And, you know, I don't want to be. I can't have her shadow hanging over me. It's too much pressure – she was perfect, and I'm, well, I'm not. I'm far from perfect."

Ron was staring at the blood red carpet, scratching at it with his foot. His hands were shoved in his pockets, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, but – I'm not her. I-I … I'm just not. If you can't accept that, I'll understand if you don't want to hang out any longer. I'm sure it must be difficult, but – I just, I can't be her for you. I can't," I shrugged. He still hadn't said anything; he hadn't moved at all.

"Well, I guess I'll see you," I said and began to walk slowly away. I wished he'd call out to me, tell me to wait. Tell me he still wanted to be my friend, I was still worth something to him – even if I wasn't Hermione. But he didn't. 

*

"I can do this," I mumbled to myself, stepping over the threshold of the Potions dungeon, "I'll be fine. This'll be easy. It's only classes. I remember all that stuff. I'll be fine."

"Harley Nicholson," A dark haired man, one I hadn't met, glared at me. I nodded slightly, and he wrote something down on a piece of paper lying on his desk. He spoke again, "Sit by Ms. Zambini." 

I looked around frantically. Who was Ms. Zambini? Finally, my eyes caught another girl's. She was pretty, but not beautiful. She had a dark complexion, but more of a reddish tint to her skin. Her hair, ebony waves of silk, was in a half ponytail, the rest floated down her back. She nodded subtly, and I ventured to the assigned table. As I crossed the room, I left a trail of whispers. 

I smiled at the girl, but she only nodded her greeting. _This will be fun, _I thought, not expecting it to be fun at all.


	3. Bought Your Name

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: Three "Bought Your Name"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Authors Note: ______ If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by ______ --- **If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.**

Thanks to … for the reviews of chapter two:

****

mmm.Remus: Why do you think Harley's a bitch? I'm just curious, but could you possibly give me some examples? Please? And she will be Hermione again, but not right away. She isn't going to wake up one morning and be like "Hey! I remember everything! I'm Hermione: the bookish, frizzy haired, best friend of Ron and Harry!" It's not going to be like that. **Red1**: Thank you sooo much, **Spike's Girl**, **Pokey**, **Lady Lupin**: interesting in a good or bad way?, **fei**: thanks! It's kind of strange to write, since I've never died - but I try!!! **Cassieworks523, Maryanne, Stephalopolis, Lilygurl88**: Thanks! More about Hermione's death will be explained in later chapters, but if you leave an email address I can send you a summary of her death (so it's more understandable). 

Please review! I live off reviews! I know it's undignified to beg, but **PLEASE**!?!

*

"Millions of people 

loved what you did

but when it hit ya'

you ran and hid

from money and muscle

the rules of the game

they bought your face boy

they bought your name"

Title: Goodbye

Album: The Harsh Light of Day (Fastball)

*

"Just act normal. He doesn't know you are Hermione, and right now, we don't want him to know," Remus Lupin, my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, instructed while leading me to the room Harry was being held.

"I don't see the point of this, though. How am I supposed to help him? He won't even recognize me," I questioned, not understanding the purpose of my appearance.

"We don't know, but we're getting desperate. Ron has tried, I've tried, Sirius has tried. Nothing will pull him out of this. Just sit with him, talk to him, just be there. You never know, it might help," he shrugged, looking suddenly older and very tired. He stopped at a wall size mural. It was of a huge castle, similar to Hogwarts, but with more of a medieval style. He brought up his hand and knocked three times on the painted door, and the entire mural morphed into a thick, oak door. He unlatched the lock, opened the door, and gestured me in. 

"Do you want me to stay here?" Professor Lupin asked, standing in the doorway waiting for my answer. I looked around the room and spotted Harry sitting in a chair at a table in the corner of the room. He was rocking back and forth, mumbling nothings over and over. 

"I'll be fine," I replied, and Professor Lupin nodded. He closed the door softly behind him, and the room plunged into a creepy, shadowed light without the candlelight from the hallways flooding into the room, illuminating it. I fetched a candle and brought it to the table beside Harry. I pulled out a chair, settled myself in it, and used another, already lit candle to light my new one. Immediately, the intoxicating aroma of cinnamon permeated through the air. 

"So, um, Harry," I nibbled on my lip, trying to think of something to say. "I'm Harley." 

No answer. 

"I'm in Ravenclaw – sixth year. You're in Gryffindor, right?" I didn't wait for his answer because I knew he wasn't going to give one. "My favorite class is Potions, although the professor isn't very fair. What do you think? Most Gryffindors don't seem to like him. I was talking to Ron earlier. He really misses you," I skipped from topic to topic, just continuously talking, making sounds, "Everyone is worried about you, but Dumbledore told them you were sick. Are you sick, Harry? No, I didn't think so. You're just lost, right? I was lost for awhile, but then someone brought me back. We don't know why, but I'm here. Everything will be all right, Harry. Are you coming back, Harry?" I felt like a small child talking to him – like he was my imaginary friend. I answered for him, I asked questions for him. It was definitely one of the less normal things I've done in the last two weeks.

"Can you find your way? I'd help you, but I don't know how. Is it dark where you are? It was very dark where I was. It was warm, though. Dark and warm – kind of strange, if you think about it. Light gives off warmth, and darkness is usually cold. But I was dark and warm. 

"Do you have light with you? I had a light. It was a person, but I don't remember who. I'm still trying to find him. I remember tidbits about him, it was definitely a him, but I just don't remember who he was. I sort of miss him," I didn't even know what I was saying, but I didn't stop. It felt good to just talk, so openly, without interruptions or judgement. It didn't make a difference for Harry, though. I don't think he even heard me. He just kept whispering things over and over. I leaned closer to him, trying to decipher his words.

"… sorry… forgive me… Hermione… sorry… sorry…" 

"You're sorry? What about Hermione?" I leaned in close, eager to learn more about Hermione, the person I am supposed to be.

"…my fault… sorry… come back…my fault… gone…" he whispered.

"Are you saying it's your fault?" I asked, trying to decipher his incessant whispers. He didn't answer, just kept whispering.

"Um, nod your head if the answer is yes," I directed, unsure of how to get him to answer. I had never dealt with a catatonic person before. Slowly, ever so slowly, his head began to bob up and down.

"It's your fault?" I repeated, wondering if someone had left out this bit of information when telling me about my past. Was Harry really to blame for Hermione's, or my, death? No, someone would definitely have said something. Unless he blamed himself…

He continued rocking back and forth, and I leaned back in my chair, studying him. His hair was mussed and his face pale – the contrast was shocking. He almost looked like a corpse – except for his eyes. They were emerald green, bright, but clouded. They fluttered around the room, and, for a moment, locked with my own. 

"Harry," I whispered, trying to make him listen. I wasn't here to judge him; only to bring him back.

"Harry…" He didn't answer, but his eyes got a bit more focused, so I continued, "Harry, please say something. Everybody's worried about you. Ron is alone now, without you _or_ Hermione. Sirius is beside himself, as well as Remus. Harry, don't you understand? Everyone looks to you as their savior, their only hope against Voldemort. I mean, I'm not saying that that is right or true, but it is what it is. If they find out you've gone crazy –" I bit my tongue, wishing to take back the words. Great way to help someone – tell them they're crazy. 

Over the past two weeks since I had returned, I had quickly figured out the majority's views on Harry and Voldemort (that evil wizard). Ron filled me in on the past six years since he met Harry and Hermione (before I had made my announcement, at least), and Blaise mentioned Voldemort every so often, usually after some raid or attack or something. 

Most of the Ravenclaws steered clear of that topic. They are kind of like Switzerland – completely neutral. Apparently, they had stayed fairly neutral at Hogwarts throughout Voldemort's first reign. When Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs decided it was time for a good Slytherin-bashing, Ravenclaws usually fled to the library. 

On the contrary, Slytherins, especially Blaise, were very opinionated when it came to him, I soon found out. Most Slytherins (but not all) were for Voldemort and this new world he wanted, but Blaise wasn't 'most Slytherins'. According to her, Voldemort was a hypocrite – claiming only pure-bloods should live, but being a half-blood himself. Plus, she called him a stupid idiot (only with more, er, strong language) because he was being so loud and blunt with his fight. She felt it would be a lot more effective if it was a slow, discreet procession. She did have a point, although I really couldn't care any less about bloodlines. They didn't concern me (or so I thought). I was like most Ravenclaws: neutral. (Looking back, I realize I was young and foolish, but at the time… well, I was young and foolish.)

"… Harry, you need to come back. It wasn't your fault Hermione died. I'm sure she wouldn't blame you. You shouldn't blame yourself, either – no one else seems to," I waited for him to do something, anything. After a moment of silence other than his incessant mumbling, I stood up.

"Fine. You're a coward Harry, you know that? You're taking the easy way out. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," I sneered, angry not at Harry, but myself. I was taking the easy way out, and I knew it. I just didn't want to deal with it.

I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

*

The moment I left the dark room I regretted the words. I contemplated returning and apologizing to Harry, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was still angry and confused. 

I began my walk to the Ravenclaw common room, my new house, contemplating, all the while, my entire stay at Hogwarts. It had been exactly two weeks, to the day, since I had turned up at, I now know as, Hagrid's hut. 

I had stayed a week in the Hospital Wing, readapting to life. They had asked me tons of questions, tried to spark my memory by both magical and muggle means, and mostly just prepare the school for my arrival. 

The Hogwarts staff and students, excluding Ron and Professors Lupin, McGonagall, and Dumbledore, had been told I was a transfer from a school in Canada whose parents had moved to London for work. 

In order to keep people from realizing I was Hermione (sort of), Dumbledore had cast a glamour over my features. My eyes had remained the same, a chocolatey brown, but my facial features had changed drastically. My nose was smaller, more rounded – sort of mousy, even. My smile had changed, too, as well as my teeth. Hermione had had sharper teeth, but mine were more blunt, curved. Overall, the effect was a cute, 'next door neighbor' look. No one had noticed my resemblance to Hermione, though.

It's said the first day makes you or breaks you – I was on the lucky side. Most everyone accepted me, and none of the other houses have real qualms with Ravenclaw, so I was okay in that department. The Ravenclaws seemed a bit stiff at first, but turned out to be warm and inviting. I was taken under the wing of Cho Chang, a seventh year, but had somewhat left her guidance after the first day. She had introduced me to everyone in Ravenclaw in their sixth year, but it was up to me to make friends. 

Ron hadn't spoken to me since I had told him I wasn't Hermione, that I wouldn't be Hermione, that I couldn't be Hermione. He had steadfastly ignored me in Transfiguration, and every time I saw him in the halls, he would walk the other way – no matter if it was the opposite direction he was heading. It had become a rather childish game – who could avoid the other the longest. 

But I was busy enough with my classes, so I managed to put him out of my mind. I had only 'transferred' three days before, but, it being a Friday when I 'arrived', I had started classes today - Monday. Already I had gone to Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms. Luckily, it wasn't too hard to catch up to the class, but still, I was loaded with work. It kept my mind off Ron, at least.

I was jarred from my thoughts when I reached the trap door that leads to the Ravenclaw common room. The trap door was on the ceiling, too high to reach, but when one spoke the password it would drop down and become a flight of stairs. A quite ingenious invention, in my humble opinion.

"Jabberwocky," I said aloud, waiting for the door to open. A moment later stairs popped into existence, and I bounded up them quickly. Alynn, an outspoken Ravenclaw fifth year, had explained the significance of the poem _Jabberwocky_ and it's creator.

Apparently, Lewis Carroll had actually been a wizard who had trapped himself inside a looking glass (which he wrote about in _Through The Looking Glass_). He had been a Gryffindor, an arrogant one at that, and it had taken his sister, a Ravenclaw, to get himself out of the mess with the mirror. Supposedly, it was a reminder to the Ravenclaws that, although Gryffindors are known for bravery (and fame), Ravenclaws are truly indispensable. How one could get all that from one word is beyond me, but who am I to judge their passwords?

I tip-toed through the common room, careful not to disturb anyone studying. Ravenclaws definitely lived up to their reputation of being studious, but they did know how to have fun. They had a great sense of humor and an incredible wit. 

"Hey," I mumbled to Lisa who was sitting on the floor, indian-style, surrounded by three tall piles of books. She said her greeting absently.

"What are you up to?" I asked, sitting down beside her. I picked up the nearest book, "Animagi Rules and Regulations: The Complete Guide to Animagi," I read off the cover. "What's this for?"

"Extra credit project for McGonagall," Lisa replied, scribbling something from another book onto a loose piece of parchment that sat in her lap atop, still, another book, "Incredibly boring, but it'll be useful if I plan to become an animagi after I graduate." 

"Why don't you become one now?" I asked, curious as to why she would wait another two years before attempting. 

"What?" she scoffed, "It's dangerous, not to mention illegal," she looked at me strangely, and I felt the need to argue my point.

"I'm sure I've heard of some people who have become animagi before graduating," I paused, trying to wrench the memory forward.

"Where did you hear that?" she replied, brushing a curly strand of dark brown, nearly black hair that had slipped out of her loose ponytail behind her ear. 

"I must have read it somewhere," I shrugged when I couldn't remember and nibbled on my bottom lip. I watched Lisa work for a few minutes more, growing more bored every second, before she got sick of my impatient sighs and snapped the book shut, pushing the papers into a dark green binder.

"Fine, I'm done," she stood up, brushing her robes straight. She feigned annoyance, but her eyes lit up amusedly. "What was it you wanted?"

"Dinner – us – now." I spoke gutturally, reminding myself of a caveman – although, I don't remember ever hearing what one spoke like, I just sort of knew. 

"Fine, let's go, Neanderthal," Lisa smirked, tossing her quill onto her bed and offering me her hand. I grabbed it, and she pulled me up and out the door. 

The moment we walked in the door, I knew something was wrong. Everyone was subdued, and Professor Dumbledore was at the front of the room, speaking loudly but somberly.

We quietly approached the Ravenclaw table as Dumbledore finished his speech and returned to his dinner. Whispers erupted around us, and I found myself catching glimpses of the conversations.

"What's going on?" Lisa asked, and, after several attempts, someone finally stopped their yacking to explain.

"Something happened, Dumbledore won't say what, and now Harry Potter's gone psychotic or what not. Apparently, the 'illness,'" she held two fingers up and curled them over to indicate quotation marks, "he's had for the past week was all a lie. Harry Potter's been crazy for over a week. Do you realize what will happen when this gets out?" a short girl, probably second year, explained quickly, bouncing in her seat with ill-contained excitement. I forgot her name, but her face was familiar. She was a talkative girl, lots of friends, - one of the "Swans".

The first and second year girls had formed a sort of hierarchy. All the kin of the well-known families were "Swans", where the muggle-borns, half-bloods, and anyone not wealthy were known as "Crows". Even here, it seemed prejudices abound – although, I don't remember my prejudices from before, I'm positive there must have been some.

It's strange, my memory. I remember nothing of the people or magical places from my previous life, but I know everything about the muggles and people from the past. I retained my memory of magical information (once it was sparked by Dumbledore's explanation), everything I had apparently learned was still there, but there seemed to be a mental block where it came to magical people and places. Strange thing, my mind.

"…talked to her yesterday…. She hasn't seen him since he first got 'sick.'" the "Swan" continued, doing the quotation marks gesture again on the word _sick. _

"Who?" I interrupted, ignoring the food that had appeared on the table and leaning over to hear the "Swan's" story.

"Ginny Weasley," she nodded, fluttering about the answers, "Very worried, she was. Can't imagine she's much better, now, after finding out her boyfriend has gone bonkers," she talked with an air of importance and understanding, but she seemed incredibly devoid of any genuine emotion. 

"Who's Ginny Weasley?" I interrupted her again, and she threw me a nasty look for someone so young before answering. 

"The youngest Weasley – over in Gryffindor, she is. Fifth year – her older brother is Ron Weasley – you know, Harry Potter's best mate. Just look over there, they all have got that flaming hair!" she pointed, rather rudely in my opinion, to the Gryffindor table and straight to Ron – but no, she wasn't pointing at Ron. She was pointing at the orange-haired, freckle-faced, fifteen year old next to him, who was pushing food around on her plate. 

I nodded and left the subject alone. I served myself quickly, stuffed it in my mouth, and hurried out of the hall, hoping to catch Ginny Weasley as she was coming out of the Great Hall. 

I ended up sitting out in the hall until the end of dinner, but finally I saw the person attached to the shocking flash of orange stand up and leave the table. She was headed my way, and I moved to greet her, but then realized I had nothing to say. What was the point of talking with her? She knew as much as I did. Dumbledore hadn't told anyone what caused this bout of catatonia or how long he expected it to last. 

I retreated quickly, slinking into the shadows until she passed. I hurried down the opposite hall, hoping no one perceived me as a stalker. That would be ever so grand – note the sarcasm. 

I wandered through the halls, wasting time before curfew and looking for something (anything) to do. Halloween was in three days (not counting today), on Thursday, but they were letting all the sixth and seventh years out early for a special party. I had already picked out a costume from Cho's extensive wardrobe. She had lent me one of her old ones (or one she had come across, but hadn't worn yet – I wasn't sure) so I wouldn't have to go buy one on such short notice.

The party wasn't anything too special, just a dinner in the Great Hall with a bit of music. First through fifth years were having dinner in their common rooms (and a mini-party), so the faculty had time to prepare and decorate. Dumbledore had insisted on some sort of event – a small pick-me-up for everyone because of the depressing days ahead (and behind). 

Still, everyone old enough to attend was looking forward to it. Apparently, it was the big social event of the year. My thoughts led me straight to the mural of the castle. Cautiously, I lifted my hand to the painted door, rapping on it three times. As I expected, it morphed into a door and before I knew what I was doing, I was inside the dark room. 

Harry was humming to himself, but today he was curled up on the couch, not at the table like before. I walked over to him silently and sat beside him. He didn't do anything to acknowledge my presence, but I spoke to him anyway.

"I'm sorry about last time. I was scared… and confused," I shrugged, "I was angry with Ron and sick of myself. Hermione was so great, and I'm not her. How can I fill the shoes of a person who left such a big imprint on everyone and everything? People don't talk about her often, but when they do – it's unbelievable how many people she impacted in one way or another," I paused, "She was a great friend, wasn't she?"

The room remained silent, except for the steady ticks of the clock on the opposite wall. The dying embers of a fire provided warmth, but there were no crackling flames to give light. How could Harry stand it here, in this world of darkness?

"She was perfect." 

I looked up, startled. I hadn't said that – Harry had. He made no move, he gave no sign, but he had said it. I know he had.

"So they say," I laughed bitterly, but then guilt overrode my jealousy. Why in the world would I be jealous of a dead person? Myself, even? It was ludicrous, but that's me for you. 

"Harry," I began carefully, "was she really that great?"

"She was perfect," he repeated, "Her and Ron deserved so much more than me. I was 'The Boy Who Lived' – and they were 'The Boy Who Lived's Friends'. But they weren't – they were always so much better than me. I'm famous because I lived and that's just- just – stupid," he hesitated for a moment, "She would still be here if I had just died that night."

I didn't say anything, too lost in my thoughts to notice Harry had stopped speaking. Finally, coming to a conclusion, I brought my head up and looked straight at him. 

"Harry, everyone thinks you're so great, right? Because you lived," I asked, working my way to my point. He didn't answer, but I knew he heard me. "And you don't think it's fair, right?" a pause for an answer that never came, "So why should everyone think Hermione is so great just because she died?"

This time he did look up. He reacted, and I wanted to jump and shout and cheer. I didn't remember him from before, but I still loved him like a brother. My memories might have fled, but my feelings had remained – and seeing him as he was before … it was heart-wrenching.

"I'm not good at explaining this," I apologized, "but why should we shout to the heavens about Hermione just for dying?" I realized how rude I must have sounded, and tried to atone for my bluntness, "Jeez, I'm not saying this right. I mean," I stuttered and snapped my mouth shut, accepting the fact that I was less than skilled with words.

"I suppose you're right," he conceded. After a pause, he added, "She was a bit bossy. And a bit, er, eccentric when it came to school."

"See, Harry," I said, "she wasn't perfect, but that doesn't mean you should care about her any less. She was human – just like me or you."

I leaned back on the couch, relaxing and letting my eyes close for a moment. The beginnings of a headache were brewing near my temples, and I gently massaged them. Harry had gone quiet, but his eyes were alert – at least he wasn't catatonic. 

After a moment's rest, I asked, "So, are you ready to go be a hero, again?"


	4. Remember

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: Four "Remember"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Authors Note: ______ If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by ______ --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.

*

"How do you measure – measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets,

in midnights, in cups of coffee,

in inches, in miles,

in laughter, in strife?"

"How do you measure the life of a woman or man?

In truths that she learned,

or in times that he cried?

In the bridges he burned

or the way that she died?"

"Let's celebrate,

remember a year in the life of friends."

Title: Seasons of Love

Rent

*

"Professor McGonagall," I knocked on her door, and she glanced up sharply from her seat behind her desk, where she had been grading papers or something of that sort. The chalkboard behind her was filled with notes for the fourth year class that had just concluded. I flinched slightly at her cold gaze, but it warmed when it landed on me.

"Yes, Her- Harley?" she almost slipped, but recovered nicely, "Did you need something?"

"Harry's all right, now," I said bluntly (I didn't know how to bring the subject up), and the pen that was in her right hand clattered to the floor. I looked behind me, and, sure enough, Harry had walked into the room. His face was still pale, but the tiniest hint of color was returning to his cheeks. He looked like a pencil, and his clothes hung off him like rags, but he was okay. That was the important part. He smiled timidly, and McGonagall jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking it over in her rush. She enveloped him in a tight, unprofessional hug. She released him a moment later, muttering an apology.

"Professor, do you know where Remus, I mean, Professor Lupin and Sirius would be?" Harry asked. I briefly wondered if I'd get to see Sirius, because I had heard so much about him.

"I imagine Sirius is in Hogsmeade, but Professor Lupin is probably in his classroom. Mind you, he _does _have a class, so don't even think about bursting in there!" McGonagall smiled affectionately and rested her hand on Harry's shoulder. 

"It's good to see you back, Harry," she said quietly. Her eyes traveled across his face, and everyone remained quiet for a few minutes. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke, "I'll get Professor Lupin and Sirius. You two just stay here, all right?"

We nodded, and she left quickly, closing the door securely behind her. I heard her cast a simple locking charm, before her footsteps trailed off down the hall. Harry and I didn't speak until her return fifteen minutes later with Professor Lupin, Professor Dumbledore, and a large, shaggy dog. 

"Harley, you can return to your dorms. It's way past curfew, and you do have classes tomorrow," Professor Dumbledore excused me, and I left quietly without argument. They wanted to be alone, but that was understandable. Plus, I was exhausted with the night's excursions.

I made it back to the Bird's Nest – the colorful name given to Ravenclaw's tower – in record time and climbed into bed, taking time only to change into pajamas. It seemed that the moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.

*

The three days leading up to the Halloween party flew by in a flash of cheers, tears, and 'welcome back's. Harry made his appearance at breakfast the next morning, and everyone loved him again. No one even mentioned his little bout with insanity – well, no one but the Slytherins. 

Ron had kept his mouth shut about the Hermione/Harley deal, but he still gave me the silent treatment. Harry must have noticed it, but he didn't say anything. Harry still flashed me small smiles, a continuous thanks – although it was a silent gratitude. 

Ron was looking happier, now that Harry was back, but he still had that lost look in his eyes. I wondered if he'd always had it since Hermione's death, or if her/my reappearance had triggered it. 

It's strange, what I'm doing. I talk about Hermione as if she isn't me, which in a way she is and in a way she isn't. I am in Hermione's body, and I have her knowledge and feelings – but not her memory. Where, as Harley, I have Harley's memories and thoughts – but her feelings blend with Hermione's so that they are one set of emotions. 

I think the reason I wanted to be Harley so badly, was not only because I was afraid of living up to the expectations that were Hermione, but because I was coping with my own death. By thinking of myself and my death abstractly, as if it was someone else, I could see it clearly. But when I think of it as _my _death, it gets fuzzy – the line between reality and insanity. Because, what is insanity but the lack of reality? 

I shook my head free of all thoughts, gazing at myself in the full length mirror in my dormitory. I had finished getting ready early, so I examined my appearance. It being a Halloween party, costumes were mandatory. So I wore a medieval style dress. The underskirt was a silky off-white material that swished whenever I walked. The shirt beneath the dress matched the underskirt in material, and the collar of the shirt was low and square-shaped. The dress piece was a dark blue with an undertone of violet. The front and back tied at the shoulders, as did the sleeves to the body of the dress. The sleeves were large, but did not reach to my hands, instead stopping just below my elbows and flaring out. The off-white undershirt's sleeves were visible beneath the dress'. The front was laced up from the belly-button to a few inches short of the collar. The skirt of the dress was floor-length and opened to show the underskirt beneath it. The waist was high, which therefore made the skirt appear longer.

"What are you supposed to be?" Lisa asked as she pulled on a pair of tall, white boots. She wore a vibrant orange dress that stopped mid-thigh, and her dark hair fell just past her chin.

"Did you get a haircut?" I asked, forgetting to answer her question and for the first time, noticing her short locks. She brought a hand up to her hair, fingering a strand and biting her lip.

"Does it look okay?" she asked nervously, tilting her head to the side while she inspected her new hairstyle in a small mirror that hung above her bed.

"It's really cute," I watched her for a minute, before returning to my own reflection. 

"So, what are you supposed to be?" she repeated her question.

"The Lady of the Lake or Morgan le Fay, your choice," I replied, smoothing out the skirt of my dress. 

"Original," she complimented, "Now turn around; let me see what you've done with your hair and face." She directed, and I spun around at her command. I hadn't applied much make-up. Only a light gold eyeshadow, a hint of blush, and clear lipgloss decorated my face, and I thought it looked simple, but still elegant. My hair, which usually dropped below my shoulders, was pulled back into a bun that sat high on my head. Again, nothing extravagant, but still nice. I wasn't drop-dead-gorgeous, or even beautiful, but I was pretty, at least for tonight.

"So? How is it?" I asked when I received no evaluation. Lisa's mouth was hanging open in a small 'O', and her fingers were resting on her bottom lip. I asked, "What? Is it that horrible?"

I looked around. Now, Padma and Mandy were staring at me with similar expressions on their faces. 

"What?" I demanded, getting slightly annoyed. I didn't think I looked that horrid, but from their expressions you'd think I was a hag or something equally ugly.

Lisa was the first to break the silence. She shook her head slightly, staring at the floor, and then she looked up. Her face had paled, as if she had seen a ghost – not that it was entirely uncommon at Hogwarts (correction: if a muggle had seen a ghost). 

"You just look like her so much," Lisa replied faintly, "It was just… shocking."

"Like who?" I asked, wondering what could emit such a reaction from all three girls. They didn't reply, just continued to stare, so I prodded, "_Like who_?"

"Hermione," Mandy mumbled, "You look so much like her – the color, that blue – just like the Yule Ball…" she trailed off, biting her quivering lip. Had Hermione and Mandy been good friends? 

"I do?" I asked, confused. I quickly glanced into the mirror – the spell was still in place. 

"No, you don't, but – you do," Lisa tried to explain, "Like, looking at your features all separately – you don't look like her at all, but the whole effect … I don't know…"

"It's the eyes," Mandy spoke up, her voice catching in her throat, "The eyes, and the hair – just like the Yule Ball – and the color of the dress…"

"Maybe I should change…" I reluctantly turned toward the bathroom to take off the beautiful gown, but Lisa grabbed my arm.

"No," she shook her head, "You look great. Don't change."

I watched her for a moment, before nodding my head. I wouldn't change. Lisa walked over to her jewelry box on her bedside table and rummaged through it for a moment, before pulling out a rope of small pearls on a golden necklace. It was short and simple, except for the strand of three pearls, probably each a centimeter below the one above, that dropped down.

"Here, it'll look great," she spun me around and clasped it together in the back. Her hands were shaking slightly, and I was left once again to wonder at the impact Hermione had had on people. 

"Just don't lose it!" she warned and pulled me around to face her again. She grinned, "You look wicked. You'll knock 'em dead!" 

*

I stepped out of the light from the hallway and into the darkness of the Great Hall, nervously fiddling with my fingers. Blaise was behind me with her long-time boyfriend, Andrew Montague. The Ravenclaw girls had simply taken too long getting ready, so I had left in search of Blaise, who I quickly found. Unfortunately, she had been with Pansy Parkinson (don't even get me started on her) who clung to Draco Malfoy like a leech. Still, I would rather walk in with Blaise and her crew than by myself. 

Blaise, Draco, and Pansy's reaction had been similar to Lisa's. Blaise's eyes had widened and a strange look crossed her face, which she still hadn't lost. Draco had mumbled about 'Mudblood look-alikes, and Pansy had just stared. They had quickly gotten over their shock, and had returned to calling me 'bird-brain'. Blaise, thankfully, had told Pansy to stuff it. Surprisingly enough, Pansy listened, although not without much grumbling.

We split up quickly; the Slytherins moving to a table in the back, leaving myself to search for familiar faces. I spotted Cho and started toward her, but someone grabbed my arm. I spun around and was surprised to find Ron standing behind me. He didn't speak for a moment, and I just stood there, waiting for him to make a move.

"Hermione?" his voice was so small, so insecure. He sounded like a child lost in a supermarket. 

"Ron, I'm –" I stopped. The look in his eyes; it was so lonely, scared – lost. "Hermione. I'm Hermione," I finished. If I couldn't give him Hermione forever, at least I could give him a few hours. 

He took a sharp breath and timidly lifted his hand to my face. I knew I didn't look like Hermione, and I wished I could drop the spell – if only for Ron's eyes. A crazy thought invaded my mind.

"Ron, follow me!" I grabbed his hand and dragged him out the Great Hall and up a flight of stairs. I made my way to the Transfiguration classroom which was right above the Great Hall. The music from below could still be heard in the empty room. I shut the door and told him to turn around. I quickly floated the desks toward the edges of the room, creating a space just big enough for one couple to dance in.

"_Caché Visage,_" I mumbled, pointing my wand at the tip of my nose. An itchy feeling washed over my face and hair, and I knew the counter-spell had worked. I looked like Hermione again. I requested, "Turn around, Ron." 

He turned around slowly, and I heard his breath catch in his throat. He didn't blink for five minutes straight. He only stared at me. Finally, he scrambled across the room and embraced me. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of Ron's arms wrapped around me. He smelled of peppermint and cologne. 

"I've missed you so much, so much, Hermione," he whispered and I felt a pang of guilt. After tonight, Hermione would be gone. Which would be worse – having Hermione for a night and losing her again or not having Hermione at all? I wished I didn't have to make that decision, but it was too late now.

A slow song began to play in the Great Hall, and he slipped his arms around my waist, rocking slowly to the beat. I entwined my fingers together around his neck and laid my head against his chest. I could hear his heart beating rapidly and feel his chest rising with every breath. 

The song ended way too fast for my liking, but he didn't let go of me. I looked up, locking my eyes with his blue ones. Before I realized what was happening, his lips were on mine. It was a chaste, gentle kiss, but it left my lips tingling and my knees weak. The strange thing was his lips touching mine felt so familiar. 

"We've done that before, haven't we?" I whispered, holding onto his shoulders for support. He mumbled a yes, kissing my cheek, then my forehead. He pulled back suddenly. 

"What?" I asked, worried I had done something wrong. He lifted his finger to my forehead and traced the scar. 

"I'm sorry," he said softly, letting his hand drop to his side. 

"It's not your fault," I replied, hoping he wouldn't pull a 'Harry' on me. I don't think I could have handled it right then. 

"I know," he said, "I've missed you." 

"It's been a year," I stated, not quite sure what to say.

"Twelve months," he replied quietly, making small circles on my back with his fingers.

"Three hundred and sixty-five days," I replied, grinning slightly. I felt so safe in his arms - I never wanted to leave. 

"A bazillion classes," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, "All of which you missed. Tsk, tsk." 

"An entire year," I repeated.

He pulled me closer, "It felt longer."


	5. Unwanted

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: Five - "Unwanted"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Authors Note: 11/10/02 If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by ?-possibly-end-of-November? --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.

*

"You don't know me

Don't ignore me

You don't want me there

You just shut me out

You don't know me

Don't ignore me

If you had your way

You'd just shut me up

Make me go away"

Title: Unwanted

Artist: Avril Lavigne

*

I hadn't spoken to Ron since the night of the dance, two days before. I had avoided him thus far, mimicking his own game. I simply didn't know what to say to him. I had no idea how to approach him. Would he be angry? Sad? Happy? There was just no way to know – other than actually speaking with him. 

I shook my head, running my hands through my hair and pulling. I had my Potions essay nearly complete, but it was still four inches too short, and Potions was in ten minutes. I had wasted my entire study hall thinking about Ron and the dance. 

I stood up, stuffing the essay in my bag. There was no use whining, and it was too late to do anything about it. I threw the bag over my shoulder and shuffled out of the library, dreading Potions. 

Not only had I not finished my essay, but this class we were attempting to make an appearance potion and the antidote. I wasn't worried about the original potion, but the antidote was what frightened me. There was a good chance it would remove the spell Dumbledore had cast. If I drank the antidote, I would return to my original form: Hermione Granger. And that couldn't be a good thing. 

I couldn't go to Dumbledore with my dilemma, though. For some reason, I just couldn't turn to him. I was afraid of him, but only subconsciously. The fear was completely illogical, but it was there, an inbred fear.

I was halfway to potions when I heard my name called from down the hall. I turned around slowly, already knowing who I would see. I would recognize that voice anywhere – how could I forget it? I also recognized the unwanted feelings stirring inside me that often accompanied the voice. 

"Hi, Ron," I smiled slightly, tired of avoiding him but dreading the upcoming confrontation. 

"I can't talk long, but…" he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to say thank you for – well, you know," he shrugged.

"I- I," I didn't know what to say. I wasn't expecting that. I figured he'd either A) get mad at me for deceiving him like that, B) think Hermione was here to stay, or C) pretend it never happened. 

"I've got to go to Potions," I finished lamely and turned my back on him, racing down the hall. I could feel my cheeks heating up and hoped the blush would recede before I got to Potions. 

Unfortunately, my wish wasn't granted. As I took my seat beside Blaise, she teased playfully, "Run into Ron, did you?"

"No," I replied, opening up my book to avoid looking at her.

"Who are you trying to kid?" she asked, exasperated. I didn't answer, so she rolled her eyes and lit the fire beneath the cauldron.

"Reports are to be turned in at the end of class," Snape announced. I made a mental note to hand it in – if we forgot, well… that was the end of that. You fail the assignment. We worked without speaking for the rest of class, and our potion was quickly complete. 

A moment later, Snape called everyone's attention to the front of the room, where he stood before a table of ingredients. It was amazingly quiet, and I briefly wondered how he was able to control everyone so completely.

"For simplicity's sake, you will all turn your hair blue, as well as your eyes," he instructed, "Add three drops of blueberry extract to your potion. Let it simmer for exactly twelve minutes, and then place a freezing spell on it until everyone has completed their potions."

I rested my chin in the palm of my hand and waited for the rest of the class to finish. It wasn't too much later that the dreaded time came. In a sharp, condescending tone Snape said, "Miss Nicholson, your turn."

I gulped it down quickly, confident our potion was brewed correctly. My scalp began to itch, but quickly ceased. I pulled a strand of hair forward, noted it was a brilliant blue, and looked to Snape for his evaluation. He nodded and moved on to the next person. This left me with myself… and my worries. I began to fidget, bouncing my knees and picking at my fingernails.

"What's wrong?" Blaise asked, "you seem tense."

"Nothing," I shrugged, pretending nonchalance. I obviously wasn't a very good actress because Blaise sure seemed to know what was going on.

"You're worried about the antidote," she stated, and I froze. Forcing myself to breathe, I looked at her, a question in my expression. "I know," Blaise said lightly with a quiet chuckle, "Boy, do I know…" 

"I don't know what you're talk—" I began, but was interrupted.

"Who are you kidding? I _know,_ Hermione," Blaise whispered, a mischievous grin on her face.

"How?" I demanded, destroying any hope of feigning innocence. My face paled as my eyes widened. Blaise blanched, standing up. She shuffled backward, but her foot caught on the stool's leg. She landed on her backside; the frightened expression on her face matched my own… all but her eyes. Her eyes sparkled excitedly – the black orbs reflecting the candles' flames that lit the room.

"Miss Zambini!" Snape's cold voice came from across the classroom. "What is go—"

"Don't feel well. I don't feel well," Blaise's breathing sped up until she was nearly panting. 

"Miss Nicholson, take her to the Hospital Wing," Snape demanded, moving to his next victim. He didn't seem to care very much about Blaise – or me (although how was he supposed to know I was the cause of Blaise's panic?)

I stepped toward Blaise, but she recoiled, bumping into the desk behind her and nearly knocking the cauldron that was stationed there over. I took another step forward, trying to grab Blaise's arm. 

"Don't touch me!" she shouted, and every eye in the room returned to us. My face flushed – the change in complexion drastic. 

"Come on, Blaise," I pleaded, trying to calm her down and get her out of the room.

"Stay away from me," she warned, "Get out of here. Go back to where you came from, _Hermione."_

A collective gasp echoed in the damp dungeon, and no one moved. Water leaked through the cracks in the brick walls and dripped down the wall, producing the only sound in the entire room. 

"Ladies, follow me," Snape spat, a lethal anger underlying the calm, indifferent tone of his voice. Wordlessly, I moved around Blaise, avoiding eye contact by keeping my head down. I heard the Slytherin's footsteps behind me, echoing on the cold, brick floor in the eerie silence.

*

I stepped into the Great Hall and, though not immediately, all conversation ceased. It was amazing how fast news traveled – it couldn't have been more than four hours since I had left Potions. I felt everyone's eyes boring into me – digging through my flesh until it found my mind, my soul. It seemed that my every thought was being projected across the room for all to read. I felt so naked – and it scared me. 

A commotion near the Slytherin table caught my attention, and I turned just in time to see Blaise rushing toward me. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the Great Hall. I hadn't had a chance to speak with Blaise since her conversation with Dumbledore (right after the incident in Potions).

"Blaise," I began, but she interrupted.

"I'm going to tell you something that I didn't tell Dumbledore," she paused, smirking, "and neither can you. Who knows what they would do to you if they found out." 

"What do you mean? Maybe you shouldn't tell me," I said, although I was curious as to what she would say. What could she mean by "who knows what they would do"? She didn't speak, but led me out the doors of Hogwarts and onto the grounds. The brisk November air nipped at my arms and the wind rustled the bottom of my robe.

"No, you need to know," Blaise replied, her ebony eyes sweeping the deserted grounds for listeners. After Blaise had decided our conversation would not be overheard, she turned back to me.

"I knew you were Hermione from the day you 'transferred,'" she said, curling her fingers in the air on the last word.

I could only stare blankly ahead as I processed her words. If she had known from the beginning, why did she look so shocked when I accidentally confirmed it? 

As if reading my mind, Blaise said, "I'm a good lil' actress, aren't I? Snape completely fell for it, and, if I'm right, so did Dumbledore. Way too trusting, that fool is," Blaise shook her head then looked up at me – her dark eyes glinting maliciously, "but I'm not going to tell him that."

Her laughter echoed across the barren landscape and a hawk, soaring high above the Forbidden Forest, cried out; the only sound in the silent autumn air. A gust of wind whipped my hair, strands of it catching on my chapped lips. It tasted bitter – a remnant of the potion. Though Dumbledore had returned my hair to its 'natural' blonde color, I hadn't had time to wash it, so the potion had been absorbed by my hair.

"How did you know?" I managed to say, still trying to comprehend everything. Things seemed to get more confusing each day.

"That I cannot tell you," Blaise replied, "at least, not yet. I know who brought you back. Just as you were led here, I was led to you. I'm here to bring you home."

"Home? What are you talking about?" I could feel my eyes filling with tears – I don't even know why. Everything was just so strange, so scary – I felt it surrounding me; it was suffocating me. I didn't understand anything – and I hated that feeling. It left me so vulnerable and insecure. 

"You know you don't belong here. Everything is too good and pure," Blaise grimaced, but grinned at her next words, "You're tainted; the spell that brought you back left you tainted. And that little seed of darkness is growing; he can feel it. Just let it go. Why are you holding back?" 

"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. She shook her head condescendingly.

"Really now, Hermione. I thought you were more clever than this," she sighed, "I suppose I'll have to spell it out for you. See, when he brought you back –" she began, but I interrupted.

"Who is _he_? Who brought me back?"

"You have to ask? I understand that you've been through a lot, but _come on_. The Hermione I remember would have figured all this out by now," she tsk-tsk'd. 

Her reference to the old Hermione stung, and I realized that was what she wanted. She wanted me to get angry.

"Your plan won't work," I replied defiantly. I was well aware of the fact I sounded like a child beginning the "yes huh/nuh uh" game. 

"First, it's not my plan. Second, it'll work," she said confidently. Her path creating a circle, she prowled around me like a cat. Her muscles were tense; her limbs always poised to strike. 

"You have his blood running through your veins," Blaise said, stepping close and snatching my wrist in her cold hand. She trailed a finger along the veins, and a chill run up my spine, "this darkness – it's a part of you now. Don't fight it," she shrugged. "It's useless. You'll feel so much better if you let it flow," she grinned, and with a laugh, the disturbed girl skipped into the castle. But as she stepped through the doorway, she turned around, "Oh yah," she paused, "don't let yourself disappear." With that cryptic farewell, she pulled the heavy oak door shut. My eyes followed her, while my brain tried to sort everything. How could that have been the same girl – the same opinionated, but still reserved girl I sat by in Potions? 

I didn't move for quite awhile, and soon my fingers grew numb. The wind stung my cheeks, and I began to sniffle, but still I didn't move. I stood before the doors of Hogwarts, overlooking the vast grounds. The leaves of the trees in the Forbidden Forest had turned a luscious red blending beautifully with the vibrant orange, and even a smidgen of yellow could be found.

"Herm- I mean, Harley?" A hand landed on my shoulder, catching me by surprise. I ripped myself from the attacker's grip and spun around, only to realize I wasn't being attacked.

"Jeez, what's your problem?" Ron snapped, clearly stung by my response to his touch. For some reason, I just didn't care. I was sick of Ron, of Harry, of everyone. I was sick of them always comparing me to their beloved Hermione. I was sick of them constantly wishing I _was_ Hermione. If I had taken a moment to rationalize, I would have realized no one was comparing me to Hermione. If anything, maybe Ron had wished for Hermione's return, but other than that – it was all in my imagination. Harry, the students, the professors, they didn't even know I _was _Hermione (sort of). Unfortunately, the fear, anger, and annoyance that had been building inside of me since I first returned finally reached its limit. 

"Will you just leave me alone?!" I exploded. "I'm so sick of this! I'm not Hermione!" I screamed and raced into the castle. 

Somehow, I managed to find my way back to the Bird's Nest. I went directly to the sixth year girl's dormitory, snapping at anyone who tried to stall me. I locked the door and collapsed onto my bed, burying my head in a pillow. Salty tears ran down my cheeks, and my body wracked with sobs. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening to me? I didn't do anything wrong. Blaise can't be right – it just wasn't possible. I was _not_ evil. 

__

But look what you just did to Ron… A raspy voice argued. _Hermione would never have done that._ Shut up. Stop thinking, I ordered myself – but the voice continued, _You will never be as good as Hermione – she was innocent and pure. Why are you trying to fight it? You say you don't want to be Hermione, say that you aren't her,, but deep down, you know you _wish_ you could be her. Everyone loved her. She was smart and pretty. She had friends and had a brilliant future ahead of her. You will never be like her. You can't. Why do you try to be? No one will ever love you like they loved Hermione. Not Ron, not Harry – not Dumbledore or McGonagall. They don't care about you._

"Only I care about you," the words were no longer in my head. I bolted upright, spinning toward the voice. A man stood shrouded by shadows in one corner of the room, and from my window I could see the sun as it descended toward the horizon from its place in the daytime sky. I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated when the door rattled.


	6. Without A Trace

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: Six - "Left Without A Trace"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Authors Note: December 4 If you have any questions, comments, criticism (or praise) please leave a review! The next chapter should be up by December 14 --- If you leave an email address, I will email you when I post the next chapter.

I had so much trouble writing this chapter! I rewrote it about three times!!! That is why it took so long, but I've figured out where I'm going so the next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to write! **Please review!**

Harry's monologue (eh? Speech? Conversation?) with Harley/Hermione was partly written by rurounix and partly by myself.

*

"I never will forget that look upon your face

How you turned away and left without a trace

But I understand that you did what you had to do

And I thank you"

Title: Here With Me

Artist: Michelle Branch

*

"Harley! Open up!" Lisa hollered from behind the door, shaking the doorknob, "Are you OK?" 

My eyes drifted toward the sound, and when I turned back, the figure, cloaked in black, had disappeared. I shook my head, wondering if it was all a dream, and opened the door for Lisa. Relief crossed her face, and she moved into the room, closing the door behind her.   
"Are you OK? I heard what happened in Potions," Lisa said, plopping down onto my bed and pulling her feet under her body.   
"What did you hear?" I asked, leaning against the door.  
"That Blaise had a nervy b and called you 'Hermione.' Why did she pull you out of the Great Hall?" Lisa asked.  
"She, uh," I stumbled on my words, trying to form a convincing story, "she just wanted to apologize."  
"Hmm," was all Lisa said. I nodded, nibbling my bottom lip. The heavy silence was making me jittery.  
"Well, I'm glad you're all right. That would have freaked anyone out," Lisa finished, standing up, "Don't worry about it though. No one thinks bad about you or anything."  
_Why would they think bad about me?_ I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. The less I said the better. I just nodded.

Lisa smiled and asked, "Do you want to hang out with us? Everyone's in the common room."

I declined, saying I had homework to finish, and Lisa nodded and smiled before bounding down the stairs. I swung the door shut, climbed onto my bed, and shut the curtains. I needed time to think; some time to sort everything out. 

Starting from the beginning, I ran through the entire day in my head. From the first meeting with Ron to – _Ron! Oh crap, _I thought suddenly, _I'm so stupid! _

I leapt off the bed and out the door, running down the stairs. Before I even reached the trap door that led out of the Ravenclaw common room and into the hallway, the door opened. Professor Flitwick climbed up the last few stairs and stood somberly in front of the door. 

"Excuse me," he said in his squeaky voice, yet somehow managed to get everyone's attention, "There has been an, er, incident, and Professor Dumbledore would like all students to remain in their common rooms. Prefects, I trust you to enforce his request. I will update you as soon as we know more. Good night."

And with that, he left. Simply climbed out the trapdoor and down the stairs. Conversation exploded in the common room. Everyone seemed to be making guesses regarding Flitwick's cryptic announcement.

I overheard a seventh year hypothesizing, "I bet Potter's gone and done something again. It's always him."

"Come on, Michael. Give him a break; he didn't ask to be famous. It has got to be tough on him – you know, without his parents and all."

"Aw, shut up. You know you just fancy him," 'Michael' replied.

"June fancies who?" A girl, probably another seventh year, interrupted. I chuckled, thinking: _They're gossiping about my best friend._

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I had referred to Harry as 'my best friend.' It was surprising, to say the least. I was almost scared… what if I regained my memory? I would know longer be Harley. I began to panic – I _was _Harley. If Hermione came back, I would disappear. I would no longer exist. 

__

Breathe, I ordered myself, trying to calm down. Blaise's words from earlier echoed in my mind, _"Don't let yourself disappear."_

The thought of vanishing pressing upon my mind, I slowly walked back up to the dormitory. It was oddly quiet, although muffled chatter could be heard through the floor. I slid down the wall and wrapped my arms around my knees. Completely worn out, I let my head tip back so it rested against the wall. It had been an amazingly hectic day, and I was losing sight of reality. My brain was in overdrive, and I couldn't think straight. What was going on? I was completely and utterly confused. My body grew heavy as I relaxed, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I surrendered to sleep, curling into a ball on the floor.

*

"Harley," a whisper woke me. I lifted my head from atop my arms, blinking to clear my vision, and looked up. Lupin stood on the other side of Ron's hospital bed.

"Professor?" I mumbled, stifling a yawn and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearing two in the morning. 

"Go back to your dorm, Harley. You can't do anything for him now," Professor Lupin urged.

"No, I can't leave," I tried to explain, "I just… can't. It's hard to explain but…"

Lupin nodded, "I'm going to bed. Madam Pompfrey is in her quarters, but don't wake her unless it's an emergency. She's been searching for an antidote nearly twenty hours a day; she needs sleep."

"OK," I smiled slightly and mumbled a good-bye. Lupin left without another word, and I looked down, watching Ron's chest rise with every breath. The freckles sprinkled across his face seemed too bright on his pale skin.

Nearly a week had passed since _that day - _the day this all began. Between Ron, Blaise, and the Shadow Man – as I had dubbed the mysterious figure that had visited my room – between them all, I was an absolute wreck that night. But over the last few days, everything settled down surprisingly. Snape had allowed me to switch partners, and it was generally accepted by my fellow students that I had switched because I felt awkward around Blaise – which was true, but not for the reason they assumed. So contact with Blaise was minimal.

The Shadow Man hadn't visited me again, and I can't say I'm not happy about that. There was obviously a connection between the Shadow Man and Blaise, although I knew no more than that. Still, anything that involved Blaise couldn't be good. 

Professor Flitwick's announcement had turned out to be not about Harry, but concerning Ron. Something had happened (no one is sure what) between the time I stormed away from Ron and later that night when Ron staggered into the library with a ghostly white complexion and wide, frightened eyes (so witnesses say). The story that had been relayed to Dumbledore consisted of Ron stumbling toward the back of the library, and reaching for a book, he collapsed. Ron was brought to the Hospital Wing by two Hufflepuffs, who say he was mumbling something or another the entire way, but by the time they reached Madam Pompfrey, Ron was out cold. Since then, Ron hadn't improved. He would stir every couple of hours, but since the third of the month when he first fell ill, he hadn't shown any sign of awakening from his comatose state.

"Ron," I whispered, reaching for his hand. His fingers, limp in my hand, felt so cold… they felt dead, but that wasn't possible – I could hear his rattled breathing. No one knew what was wrong with him, but he seemed to get worse every day. He jerked awkwardly, whimpering, before falling back into unconsciousness.

"Ron, I'm so sorry," I mumbled, fighting back the tears. Somehow I knew this had to do with me. Somehow I had caused this.

"How is he?" 

I cringed at the voice. Though the question seemed innocent enough, I heard the sneer behind it. I didn't look up; I didn't want to see her face.

"Not getting any better, is he?" She asked. It was obvious she already knew the answer. I looked up, and her dark eyes met my tired, brown ones. Her grin seemed to say: _I know something you don't know. _I didn't answer her question; I just stared at her. 

Finally, she said, "He won't survive." 

This I knew. Even if I hadn't accepted it yet, I knew it. It hurt more than words could ever express, but there was nothing I could do. The helpless situation left me angry and scared, but still _– there was nothing I could do._ Ron was at the mercy of whatever had hurt him. 

"I know someone who can heal him." 

My eyes snapped up to Blaise's, and a small seed of hope planted itself in the pit of my stomach – just waiting for the chance to bloom. All it needed was a little more…

"I know someone who _will _heal him," Blaise paused, "for a price."

"And the price?" I asked, breaking my vow of silence. I had to ask, though. I had to know. If there was anything I could do to save Ron, I would do it.

"You," she answered simply. "All he wants is you. If you agree to those terms, Ron is going to live. If you don't… well, it's only a matter of time."

I didn't say anything. Was I willing to give up my life for Ron's? Yes. I already knew the answer, but I couldn't make myself accept. What if this wasn't the only way out? What if there was another cure?

"Take as much time as you want to decide," Blaise told me, "but be careful… Ron won't be around forever."

With that, Blaise turned and walked out of the Hospital Wing, just as Harry ran in. He looked at me, seeming to ask: _What was she doing here? _I shrugged, unsure of what to tell him.

"How's Ron?" Harry leaned his broom against the wall. His hair was all over the place, and his face was flushed.

"Quidditch practice?" I asked, and he nodded. He took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and spoke.

"Hi Ron," he said, "It's me – Harry. I just got in from Quidditch practice. Everyone misses you – they want their keeper back."

I watched Harry talk to his best friend, a heavy sadness weighing down on me. He spoke of Quidditch, of the Cannon's win on Wednesday… Harry talked about the other Gryffindors, of the family and how worried they were about Ron. He told Ron about all the classes he was missing, gave Ron messages from various teachers and students. He told Ron jokes that he had heard, and filled him in on how many points Slytherin lost in Charms. Finally, the talking ceased, and we sat there in silence – the three of us. 

"Har… Hermione, I know." Harry said after a while. I should have been surprised – but, frankly, I was too tired to feel. I was numb – emotionally. Somehow, I managed to ask how he figured it out.

"The Blaise thing – it triggered my memory. Before I went," he paused and shrugged, "well, comatose, Sirius told me you were alive. That was what triggered the, um, episode, actually. I guess I had suppressed it, but when Blaise called you Hermione… I put two and two together."

I was reminded of my conversation with Ron – when I told him I _wasn't _Hermione. I knew I had to tell Harry, but I was afraid of his reaction – would he reject me? Still, I gathered my courage and opened my mouth to say it, but he stopped me.

"I don't expect you to remember, but I know that she is in you… somewhere," he said, "I'm just…" He seemed to be struggling with his words. "You saved me, Hermione. You saved me _again_." 

I stared into his emerald eyes… Each time he called me that, everything felt so…right. I could almost pretend that I was Hermione, that I was the amazing girl everyone loved.

"Just like the time with the Devil's Snare, the Basilisk, with Sirius in third year and Ron in fourth – you were _always_ there," he continued, letting out a faint laugh.

"I couldn't forgive myself. I took you for granted. All those times you were there, I just assumed you would always be…" his voice cracked. "And then you were gone. Ron was a mess, and even if he never admitted it, he blamed me for a while. I know he doesn't anymore, but he did. Imagine, The Boy Who Lived unable to protect his closest friend."

He smiled grimly, trying to curb the tears gathering in his eyes. "Imissed you. You and Ron were… _are _my best friends. I could always lean on you when things got too hard. You always knew what to do or how to make it better. But when you died, I was alone. Ron and I drifted apart… I thought no one understood how I felt. I know I was wrong – Sirius had to have known what I was going through, but I couldn't see that. I just didn't know what to do," Harry let out a sigh. I could almost see the load lifting from his shoulders. He had carried that burden around for the last year, and finally, it was lessening. Maybe it wasn't completely gone, maybe it would never be, but it wasn't quite as heavy anymore – I could see that. His face looked younger, his eyes more innocent. It was amazing: the change.

He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted when the Weasley clan burst into the Hospital Wing. I recognized them all; they had been in the photos Dumbledore had used to try to spark my memory. It hadn't worked, of course, but Ron had told me who was who in the photos.

"Oh Ron!" Mrs. Weasley ran over to Ron, gripping his hand and brushing his hair out of his face. I slipped to the back of the room as the Weasley's huddled around the bed. All eight of them began speaking at once, and the room was filled with voices. 

"Excuse me," Dumbledore said, not raising his voice but still somehow managing to get their attention. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw me. "Harley? What are you doing here?"

"I was just visiting Ron," I replied quietly, and every eye in the room focused on me. I heard Fred and George whispering to each other, but I couldn't decipher the words.

"Who are you?" Mr. Weasley asked, not unkindly.

"She's my friend – mine and Ron's," Harry saved me from answering. I wouldn't have known what to say. Before Mr. Weasley could say anymore, Dumbledore cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, and I cringed. I knew what was coming…

"I'm sorry…"

I didn't need to hear the rest to know Blaise was right. The look on Dumbledore's face made that clear. I _knew_ it, but I couldn't _believe_ it. Things like that don't happen. My friends don't die. Ron Weasley doesn't die. He just can't…

"…completely unheard of…no known cure…" 

Mr. Weasley nodded along, listening to the headmaster's explanation, but I saw the tears dripping down the corners of his eyes. Mrs. Weasley was on the floor with Ginny, their shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Fred and George had collapsed onto the adjacent bed, their faces slack and impassive. Bill sat in the chair with his head in his hands, and Charlie was beside Mr. Weasley, his hand resting on the elder Weasley's shoulder giving him silent support.

I stood straight, chin up, staring into space. I saw everything around me, but I didn't _see _it. I watched Ron, knowing I would never see him again – not alive, anyway. Unaware of everyone else, I walked out of the Hospital Wing. They didn't follow, and for that I was thankful. I knew what I had to do. It was the only way…

I floated toward Ravenclaw tower, and somehow made it to my dormitory without speaking to anyone. I dug through my chest, until I found a clean piece of parchment. I sat down at the shared desk and began my letter. I finished an hour later, after many rewrites, and rolled up the parchment, securing it with a navy blue ribbon. I wrote _To Ron Weasley _and placed a simple privacy charm on it. Now no one but Ron could open it. Slowly descending the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, I allowed my eyes to wander over everything – for the last time.

Gathering my courage, I marched to the entrance of the Snake's Den (Slytherin common room), and pounded on the brick wall that hid its entrance. I knew they could hear me, so I kept pounding. Finally, a fifth year Slytherin barged out, wand held high. 

"Find Blaise," I demanded. The sound of my own voice shocked me; it was so cold – brutal even. The Slytherin must have heard the edge in my voice, for he didn't argue. He slipped back through the crack in the wall, and a moment later Blaise appeared. She smiled when she saw me.

"So you are here to take me up on that…" Blaise paused, "agreement?"

I didn't say anything; I didn't need to. She knew why I was there. 

"All right," she shrugged. "Like I already told you, you come with me. Voldemort has some plan for you or what not, so, in exchange, he will heal Ron," Blaise explained.

"How do I know that he will fulfill his end of the deal? How do I know he won't just let Ron die?" I asked.

"You don't," she said, "but do you really want to take that chance? If you _don't _come with me, Ron is going to die. And as far as I know, the Dark Lord is true to his word. If he says he will heal Ron, then he will."

She said it with such assurance. How could she expect me to trust him – trust Voldemort? But I had no choice. I couldn't let Ron die, especially if I knew there was a chance that I could save him. 

"OK," I said. "I'll go with you."

"Then let's go," she grabbed my hand, and suddenly I was no longer at Hogwarts.


	7. No Greater Love

****

Fallen Saint

Written By: Logical Nonsense

****

Chapter: Seven – "No Greater Love"

****

Summary: Hermione was brutally murdered in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but now someone has brought her back. Why? How? Everything will be just like it always was, right? No. Hermione doesn't remember her past life or anyone from it. How are the Terrific Trio supposed to act now? And without the prejudices Hermione lived with before, how much will she change?

****

Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: HP and the SS, HP and the CS, HP and the PoA, HP and the GoF

****

Disclaimer: 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Additional Disclaimer: Possible references/themes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

****

Author's Note: I had so much trouble writing this chapter! I got stuck and just took a breather (ok, a very LONG breather). But then when I picked it up again, I had no idea where to go! I rewrote it about three times! That is why it took so long. But here you go… hope you enjoy.

*

Greater love has no one than this, 

that he lay down his life for his friends.

John 15:13

*

When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to find my surroundings were beautiful. I had imagined a dark dungeon or somewhere in the woods; I hadn't expected to see _this_. Blaise stood to my right, watching my eyes roam around the room. It was a gorgeous room; more beautifully decorated than anywhere I had ever been. Perhaps, even more stunning than Hogwarts. The carpet alone was probably worth more than everything I owned. It was an ancient, time-honored texture, soft and plush, and an enchanting peacock green that was repeated throughout the entire room. 

"I've got to get back to Hogwarts," Blaise interrupted my inspection of the room, and I glanced over at her. She was smiling, but, for once, it didn't seem mean or mischievous. Her smile almost seemed sad. I could only guess why she would be sad – Voldemort would obviously be pleased with her, if I were what he wanted. 

I nodded and couldn't help returning her smile – not a full smile, just an "it's OK" smile. For a moment I could read the shock on her face, but it was quickly replaced by an indifferent façade. 

"This is your room. You have everything you will need and expect a visit from your house elf sometime tonight or tomorrow. Someone will be along to take you to dinner, so be sure to clean yourself up," Blaise said in a cold, almost angry voice. Her gaze met mine, if only for a second, before she tore her eyes away and shut the door. 

I took a minute to wonder about Blaise's behavior, but nothing profound or even interesting came of that. I still didn't understand her one bit. Sighing, I returned to my examination of the room.

The walls were split in two with the bottom half made of an elegant, golden oak. Above the oak, the walls were painted the same comely green as the carpet. A queen sized bed rested with the headboard against the northern wall; the headboard matched the oak walls, as did all the wood in the room. The comforter was the same, dark green as the carpet, but an embroidered border of graceful snakes was stitched in silver. If I looked at the border in just the right light, the snakes seemed to move.

By now, through obvious deduction, I had recognized the room, maybe the entire mansion, (Castle? House? Lair? What to call it?) was decorated according to Slytherin House emblems. My heart ached, remembering the Houses – Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and… Gryffindor. That word alone created a sorrow in the pit of my stomach, eating me up inside. Everything seemed to remind me of Hogwarts, which in turn brought to mind Ron. I missed him already, and the possibility (or probability) I would never see him again hurt too much to bear. My eyes filled with tears, but I fought them back, determined not to cry. I needed to stay strong. 

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked to the bedside table nearest to me. On it lay a single, red rose – a gift, it seemed. I picked it up and winced as a thorn stabbed my finger.

__

"Ouch!" 

"Are you OK?" Ron asked, stepping close and grabbing my hand. It tingled in his grip, and I felt a pleasant wave of dizziness wash over me.

"Yes, I just cut myself," I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't let go. He kept his eyes trained on the injured finger where a small puddle of blood had seeped from the cut.

"I should've taken the thorns off," he said, and I could hear his guilt for my small wound. My heart melted. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't even think of it."

I smiled at his obvious concern for my welfare, even if it was only a superficial cut. He looked up and, at my expression, asked, "What?"

I shook my head, "My finger is fine, Ron." I suddenly felt shy, but managed to say, "Thanks for the – you know…" 

"It was the least I could do for—"

My eyes snapped open, and my breath came in short, ragged gasps. That had to have been a flashback, I concluded. _I'm remembering_, I realized and was surprised to find myself excited. The brief panic that had seized me before was gone, replaced by a yearning to remember. I wanted to remember everything – the good _and_ the bad. I wanted to remember Ron and Harry, Remus and Sirius. I wanted to remember my parents and the Weasley family. I wanted to be able to envision Harry's first Quidditch match and recall how pretty I felt at the Yule Ball (Ron had told me most of these things). Though I know what happened (from Ron), I wished I could close my eyes and relive it. Replay it in my mind. I wanted to _remember._

I couldn't imagine what had brought this sudden change in me. Only a few weeks ago I was terrified of Hermione's return. Now, I could hardly wait. 

__

"…she's in you somewhere…" Harry's words floated through my mind. Had I finally accepted the fact that I _was _Hermione? I didn't feel the pressure to _be _Hermione, now that I knew Harry thought of me as Hermione – a confused Hermione, but Hermione nonetheless. And if Harry could see Hermione in me, maybe everyone else could, too. And if they loved Hermione, which they obviously did, did that mean they loved me, too? A warm rush swept through my body at the thought.

__

I'm going to get back to them, I silently declared. It might take forever, but someday… I would go home. Yes – home. Home to Hogwarts… to Harry, Ron, and my family… to friends and professors. Someday.

But until then, I was stuck here. I might as well get used to it. I walked around the bed to the western wall where I had a beautiful view of the grounds from a large bay window. I sat on the predictably green cushion, and pushed my face against the glass. From the forest growing just beyond the wrought iron fence, I was able to correctly assume my room was in the back of the mansion. An enormous garden took up most of the yard, and a man-made pond with a beautiful bridge sat in the far-left corner. It was growing dark, probably nearing seven o'clock. _Had anyone at Hogwarts noticed I was gone? _I wondered, but pushed the thought away. It was too painful to think of Hogwarts.

A giant wardrobe was pushed against the wall, next to the window. I ran my fingers along the smooth wood as I passed it. I turned around to face the door. Just to the right of it was an antique, oak desk with a matching chair. A jar of ink was placed next to a small cup filled with quills, and a single sheet of parchment lay underneath a heavy, silver paperweight in the shape of a snake. 

I longed to write a letter to Hogwarts, for everyone to read, but I suppressed the urge. I had no way to send it, anyway. I turned my attention to the woven rugs hanging on the gray, stone walls, softening the appearance of my new home. _No_, I decided, _I would not call it home. Living quarters._ Temporary_ living quarters. _

A fire sprung to life in the fireplace on the southern wall, crackling and hissing. It warmed the room, but I still felt cold – and empty. 

To the right of the fireplace there was another door. I crossed the room, noting how little sound was made by my footsteps on the carpet, and pushed open the door. Lit by a candle-filled chandelier, the bathroom was just as extravagant as the bedroom. A large, white marble tub with silver knobs was filled to the brim with water. I dipped my hand in, surprised to find it hot, and looked at all the different knobs. Each had a different jewel set into the handle, and I was reminded of the prefects' bathroom.

_What? Prefects' bathroom? _My eyes widened. I was remembering! I couldn't hold back the delighted giggle that slipped through my lips and echoed through the room. 

Smiling despite my situation, I continued my inspection of the room, finding towels in an ornate linen closet and soap, toothpaste, and other such stuff in drawers beneath the marble sink. An elaborate painting of a landscape with a strong yet lovely castle hung over the tub, and in the mirror, seemingly embedded into the wall above the sink, I saw my reflection. I realized why Blaise had suggested I 'freshen up' before supper. My hair was a mess, and, regardless of my grin, I looked depressed. My eyes were red and puffy, and my face was blotchy. Still, nothing a bath couldn't fix. 

It was dark by the time I left the bathroom and walked to the wardrobe, assuming they had provided me with clothing. I was surprised to see a large selection of robes of all colors. Maroon, navy blue, dark green, black… Next to the robes I found two cloaks: black and dark gray. Brown and black shoes were lined up on the floor of the wardrobe, and I pulled a pair out. They fit perfectly.

It seemed as if _'they'_, whoever _they_ were – probably Voldemort – had prepared for my arrival. As I looked at each article, I realized everything was my size. There were socks in the drawers, as well as underwear. Everything was obviously expensive with the name of a French-sounding shop embroidered with gold thread on the tag. I continued to rummage through everything, unaware of the fact that I stood dripping wet wearing only a bathrobe.

A knock on the door startled me, and I nearly dropped a drawer of the jewelry box, that had been built right into the wardrobe, to the floor.

"Yes?" I called out, unsure of what to say. A muffled voice answered, but I wasn't able to make out the words. I stepped closer to the door, and asked the boy (it was obviously a male voice) to repeat whatever he had said.

"I'm supposed to escort you to dinner," he said. "Hurry up, will you?"

"Um, I'll only be a minute," I called back, ripping clothes from hangers. Maroon? No… Blue? Maybe… Black? Too dark… Yes, blue… Blue is good. I grabbed my underthings and quickly slipped into them, then pulled the navy blue robe over my head while mentally choosing a pair of black ankle boots. I looked in the mirror, shocked to find Hermione staring back at me. The spell had… vanished. I had dripping wet, brown hair again, and Hermione's sharp, straight teeth shone bright when I smiled.

"Hurry up!" The boy shouted from the hallway, and I stepped back from the mirror reluctantly. I pulled on the boots and opened the door. 

"Come on," he said, oddly cheerful, and started down the hallway. I hurried to catch up with him, and though I'm positive he could hear my hurried footsteps, he made no effort to slow. Luckily, he hadn't gone too far before I reached his side. 

"Where are we going?" I asked meekly. I know he could hear the fear in my voice, and I hated myself for it, but I was terrified. He stopped and turned to face me.

"Why are you afraid?" 

I looked at him, confusion evident on my face. Why wouldn't I be afraid? I was trapped in some unknown castle with people I don't know and can't trust… I could be walking to my grave and not even know it.

"Now, I know this will take some getting used to, but really, it's all for the best. Lord Voldemort has great plans for the wizarding world," he said, patting my arm in an, I assume, encouraging manner.

I stared at him in disbelief, "Do you really believe that? Have they got you so brainwashed you don't even see the idiocy of what your saying?" 

He looked taken aback, as if no one had ever questioned him. It seemed as if he had never had even a glimpse of the world outside. He had been bred and raised as a servant to the Dark arts and whoever chose to be lord over them. He had been fed lies disguised as enlightened truth. 

"Voldemort is a murderer. A murderer. Do you not see that? And don't give me that mudblood sanctification crap. He's killed just as many purebloods as he has muggles. He's a monster, a murdering, cowardly monster. He chose the easy way rather than take the harder but ultimately _right_ way. Yes, his family life was horrible, but that is absolutely no excuse for the beast he has become and---"

"I'm glad to hear that's how you feel about me," a silky voice sounded from behind me. 

I watched, terrified, as my escort dropped to one knee, face near the floor, in a bow, and I slowly turned around. What I saw didn't match the description Harry had given, but nonetheless, it was obviously Voldemort. I was surprised to see he looked quite a bit like Harry…

"I only wish I would have known sooner, or I wouldn't have taken all the trouble to resurrect you and then get you here," he continued to speak in a smooth voice. He never raised it nor showed a modicum of emotion. He didn't even draw his wand as he slowly prowled around me in a circle. 

I was frozen; I had to force myself to breathe. _In, out. In, out._ This surely wasn't the Voldemort Harry had seen. He must have cast some kind of glamour or taken some sort of restorative… he had done something, that was for sure. No longer was Voldemort the hideous, red eyed, snake of a man, but instead, in his place, stood a handsome, dark man in his late thirties. I wondered idly if Harry would look like that in another twenty years. 

"Are you listening?" He hissed, finally letting go of the tight hold he had over his emotions. I was brought back from my thoughts, but the brief sojourn had given me time to gather my courage. I realized I wasn't afraid of him. I had already died once after all, and though my life was short, I had surely lived it to its fullest. I had people I loved whom I would miss dearly, but… I had already done this. I had already died. I wasn't afraid of it anymore. 

"You caught me, actually. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about your defeat. When they finally catch you – or kill you – you're going to have nothing to show from this life, except pain and regret. No one will mourn your death, no one will miss you. In fact, there will probably be parties. Each year, your defeat will be celebrated. Everyone will remember your reign, and the terror you inflicted upon the world, but no one will admire you nor care about what made you this way. They will pass you off as the monster you are, and no one will ever doubt it. You'll go down in history books as the _Dark Lord_," I stressed the words sarcastically and continued on in my foolhardy rant. "But that's all the reward you will get for this. _What have you accomplished?"_

His face was white with withheld rage, but I just didn't care. The line had been crossed, and there was no going back now. 

"I should kill you for that," he seethed, pulling his wand from inside the folds of the billowing black robes, but I interrupted before he could utter a word.

"Take the easy way out again? Hmm? That's all you ever do. You hear something you don't like, so you kill 'em. Good thinking. Really, I applaud your logic. Sooner or later, you'll be the only wizard left in the world, right? Kill all the people that oppose you or disappoint you, and there will be no one left. Why not? Because we're all human. We all make mistakes. Even _you _do. And don't you deny it – Harry Potter is living proof of it. You should have known the protective power behind Lily's sacrifice, but you overlooked it – you made a mistake. And it cost you your reign, and now, no matter how hard you fight, you're going to lose. We're prepared for you," I went on and on. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was suicide. But like I said, the line had been crossed. I finished my raving and took a breath, waiting for the inevitable Killing Curse to end my life. But it never came. 

Shouts from the first floor caught Voldemort's attention. It sounded as if a battle had begun beneath them, and the noise grew louder and louder. I ran to the balcony and looked over, amazed to see aurors pouring into the large foyer from the doors, which appeared to have been blasted open. Death Eaters flooded out of the surrounding rooms, meeting the aurors in a vicious battle of curses. Spells that had missed their mark slammed into the walls, shaking the foundation of the manor. 

Without another word, Voldemort retreated down the hallway. I wondered if he had gone to hide out or to join the fray. Either way, he was gone, and I was free to escape. Casting a single glance at my escort, who stared at me in awe, I sprinted in the opposite direction. 

I was above most of the ruckus, but I could see the aurors dispersing themselves through the mansion. They left behind trails of dead, or possibly stunned, Death Eaters. I decided it would be best to return to my room and wait for the battle to end, rather than run the chance of being mistaken as the enemy. I managed to find my room and ducked inside, locking the door behind me. I sat upon the bed nervously, listening for commotion outside my door. I could hear curses hitting the walls, jolting the structure of the building. I wondered how long it would hold up and prayed the battle would be over before the old building gave in. I held back a gasp when as the doorknob slowly turned, only to be inhibited by the lock. I suddenly remembered a situation much like the one I was in now.

_My eyes snapped open at the sound. The rattle of the lock, the squeak of the door's rusted hinges. Someone was inside. I bolted upright, my heart pounding. Who could be coming home now? My eyes darted to the digital clock beside my bed on the nightstand. 3:47. The numbers glowed an ominous red. The floor creaked as the intruders moved through the house. The air crackled, and my breathing grew ragged and scared. I could feel the magic. This was no cat burglar._

Outside, the wind howled, and rain pounded against my window like little darts. The streetlight shone eerie orange. I heard the footsteps draw closer, until I sensed they were directly below me on the first floor. Muffled voices floated through the floorboards, sinister and foreboding. 

I was startled from the flashback by voices outside the door, so similar to the ones I had heard over a year ago…

__

"Parents first," I heard a gruff whisper outside my door. The footsteps faded down the hall – toward my parent's room. What should I do? Try to save them? I didn't stand a chance against a grown wizard, yet alone more than one. I could flee… try to save my own life. But even I saw the cowardice of that plan, yet what else could I do? I was a sitting duck, just staying there in my room.

I would try to make a run for it, I decided. If I could get to the street, I could call the Knight Bus. They would have a way to contact Aurors. Maybe, it wouldn't be too late to save my parents. But whom was I trying to kid? There was no chance… still, I had to try something- anything.

My heart was pounding as these memories flooded back, but I managed to hear the words over my hammering heart. "It's locked, should we break in?"

A pause, and then, "No, this building's coming down. We better go. If anyone is in here, they'll be buried in the rubble."

My breath quickened, I had to get out of here. Nervously, I waited for the voices to fade away before jumping off my bed and tearing down the hallway. The floor shook with every footfall, and I could hear the creaks as the roof rolled and shifted. I had only minutes…

__

I froze as a scream pierced the heavy, quiet air. My mom. A wave of nausea washed over me, but I forced myself to step into the hallway as the screaming continued. I couldn't just do nothing. In an act of foolish chivalry, I turned around and raced to my parents' room. Four hooded wizards had surrounded my parents' bed, and a fifth held the wand that was administering the Cruciatus curse to my mother, who writhed on the floor in unimaginable pain.

""STOP IT!" I yelled and tore out of the room, stumbling down the stairs as the Death Eaters followed closely behind. Curses flew past me, and one finally hit the center of my back. Pain shot outward, followed by a numbing sensation.

Tears were streaming down my face by now, obscuring my vision. I had no idea where I was going, but I just kept running. The mansion seemed desert of conscious beings.

"Hey! You!" 

I didn't turn around, afraid it was a Death Eater, afraid it was an Auror. Either one was a threat. The Auror's wouldn't recognize me, and if they did, they would surely kill me. Hermione Granger died last year. 

"Stop!!"

__

I tripped over the carpet, my knees slamming into the hardwood floor. A rough hand gripped my shoulder, pushing me onto my back. Four of the five Death Eaters had followed me, it seemed, and a green flash upstairs told me the fifth was on his way.

I opened my eyes, staring into the face of a war-weathered Auror. 

__

"Let me do the honors," a silky voice flowed from the mouth of the tallest. His hood cloaked all but his mouth in shadows, and as he reached for my arm with his left hand, the corners of his mouth turned up in a familiar smirk. I had seen that expression before, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember where. 

He sank his long nails into my wrist, drawing blood. I yelped, but the intense pain that followed a clear spoken curse silenced me. Tears poured from my eyes from the pain, and it hurt to breathe. 

"I'm sure Potter will love our present," the wizard laughed, a harsh, cold laugh. I didn't even see the other wizard raising his wand, nor did I hear the utterance of the Killing Curse. With a green flash, my world went dark.

*

"He's in there," Harry gestured to the farthest bed in the room. I whispered my thanks, unable to speak any louder. It was over. I was Hermione, and I was home.

"Harry," I turned around, just as he was stepping out the door. He paused and turned his ear to me, and I tried to find the words to express how I was feeling. I opened my mouth, saying nothing yet so much at the same time. He nodded, finding heartfelt words in my silence.

I watched him leave, not turning back again, before taking that long walk down the aisle of the infirmary. Ron had never seemed so far away before. I took a deep breath and pulled the curtain back. He lay in bed; his freckles dark on his milky white skin. I fought back a sob. I hadn't realized how much I missed him, nor how much I needed him. I collapsed into the chair beside his bed, wrapping my warm hands around his own cold ones. His eyes fluttered but remained shut. In my mind, I ran through everything that I had planned to say to him. It had to be good; it was goodbye. 

"Ronald Weasley," I began, letting his name roll off my tongue. The last time I had called him that, I was teasing him about his Potion's marks. A tear rolled down my cheek unhindered. "I remember the first time we met. You were incorrigible, and I was a know-it-all. And look how we ended up… the way I feel about you— it-it's new. I've never felt this way about anyone in my entire life before, and now… now you're leaving me. Payback, huh? Revenge for me leaving you?" I laughed bitterly, "No, I know you wouldn't do that… I--," I stumbled over the words, "I love you." 

I waited for some kind of reaction—anything at all—yet none came. "I was hoping you would wake up when I said that. You'd wake up, and we would all live happily ever after." Rage about the unfairness of all this boiled inside me. "I hate this. Why are you leaving me? Why don't you just wake up? Wake up and come home! I did." Despair overwhelmed the anger, and a new flood of tears poured down my face. Soon, the tears trickled to a stop, and I was left feeling hollow and numb. 

"I love you, Ron. I've loved you since I was thirteen years old. I'm just sorry I never had the chance to tell you," I whispered regretfully. I felt there was nothing more to say, when really there was so much more I could say. But I didn't have forever, and each minute was precious. I leaned over slowly, laying my lips on his for a moment. A tear slid off my face and splashed onto his cheek, but he didn't even twitch. I stood up, brushing my lips over his hand, before slipping my hand from his. I was just about to leave, when I noticed my familiar writing on a piece of parchment on his nightstand. I picked it up quietly, opening it and reading the words I had wrote what seemed so long ago. It had been opened, I noted. 

__

Dear Ron,

I'm sure you think I've abandoned you – again. I'm so sorry. You can't understand right now, but maybe someday you will—I did what I had to do. You must know how much I care about you, how I would never leave you unless I had to… I'm not saying any of this right, I know. I'm so sorry. Move on, though. Don't mourn over me. I want you to live your life – live it for me, ok? Please don't let my sacrifice be in vain. I know this must not make sense, but… oh well, I've tried.

Don't hold any of this against Harry. Don't blame him. It's not his fault. It's mine. It's all mine. Someday, we will be together again. Maybe you will understand. But until then, just live. Live like I haven't, ok? I'm sorry that his makes no sense… I'm sorry for so much. 

Love always, your friend,

Hermione

I rolled the parchment, recasting the privacy spell, and laid it on the desk. I turned my back to his bed and stepped from behind the curtain. The sun was just rising over the horizon, casting a warm glow in the white, sterilized Hospital Wing. It was a new day- the first day of my new life.


End file.
